


Blow: A Spacedogs/Whiplash AU

by thymogenic



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Spacedogs - Fandom, Whiplash (2014)
Genre: A Lil' Bit of Heartbreak, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Belittling Speech at Students, Blindfolds, Blood and Injury, But its worth it i promise, Butt Plugs, Conductor!Nigel, Cum Eating, Drummer!Adam, Eventual Happy Ending, Face Slapping, Facials, Gentle BDSM, Good Aftercare, Hand Jobs, Hand Striking, I never meant for there to be all this angst, Intimidation Techniques, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mouth Gags, Nipple Clamps, Non-sexual humiliation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Sensory Overload, Some Poncy Water Metaphors, Spanking, Sybian, Teacher-Student Relationship, Whiplash AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymogenic/pseuds/thymogenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blow: Jazz slang for 'improvise'; it has a more mystical aura.</p><p>Spacedogs meets the critically acclaimed 2014 film 'Whiplash' in a fury of drum hits, tough love, and burgeoning affections. Adam is a first-year student at one of the most prestigious music conservatories in America. Having lost his father the year before, his passion and drive to become a great jazz drummer are his only companions, and it's not long before he catches the eye of Shaffer's most notorious ball-busting, swearing, and dangerously alluring band leader. Nigel sees the sheer determination in Adam's commitment to being a musician and will do anything he can, no matter how questionable, to push him towards excellence. Things get complicated (and adorably kinky) when attractions can no longer be resisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the Top

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/gifts).



> Thank you so much to my dear Llew, who inspired me to stop doubting myself and just write. You were so patient and supportive, and I am blessed to have had you as my beta and muse.
> 
> The Whiplash screenplay was indispensable to me as source material, and can be downloaded [here.](http://www.sonyclassics.com/awards-information/whiplash_screenplay.pdf)
> 
> Please read all footnotes in order as they appear in the text. They will only work properly in a chapter by chapter view, not the entire work at once.
> 
> In each chapter there will be an accompanying song. Please have a listen if you don't find it too distracting. It is a music AU after all! (If there are any issues with the media player, feel free to open the link to the song above it in a new tab to listen while you read.)
> 
> Incredible, gorgeous artwork done by the talented [Rola!](http://jungshan.deviantart.com) For more amazing Hannibal fanart, please follow them on [tumblr.](http://hanniwill.tumblr.com)
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Llewcie!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists meet for the first time, with disappointing, yet erotic results.

[CANNONBALL ADDERLEY QUINTET - Arriving Soon (Vinson)](http://picosong.com/x3kS/)

_Top: The first beat of the first measure._

In a cavernous room, dark except for a small area lit from overhead by a single lamp, there's a drum set positioned near the open door of a practice space. Like any standard jazz setup, it's got a bass drum with a middle tom attached, flanked by a floor tom and a snare. A pair of high-hats, a crash cymbal, and a ride cymbal complete the menagerie, reflecting a golden glow out into the expanse. Simple but functional, it is free of all the flashy accoutrements musicians of another breed might have included.

Crisp, sharp hits of drumsticks on drum heads fire out like gunfire and echo down the hall, made by a boy of nineteen, head down and eyes closed in concentration. His slight figure fits into the drummer's throne like he was born to be there. This is his safest and most cherished place. He's skinny except for his arms, lean with thick cords of muscle built from years and years of drumming. They bulge out slightly from under the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt, neatly folded and cuffed up to his elbows. Sweat fastens brown curls onto his temples and forehead, framing his pretty face to a slightly amatory effect. The black earphones he's listening to blare “Arriving Soon” from The Cannonball Adderley Quintet as he plays along. He's in the middle of improvising his own solo, folded perfectly into the turnaround at the third section of the tune. Suddenly, a man enters the practice room. Adam stops drumming, rips out his earphones, and stands, startled.

Adam's speech pattern is distinct, with minimal intonation, but still expressing emotion in his own way. “This room isn't reserved from seven-thirty onwards. I usually practice here...I thought...” He falters in his own awkwardness. He makes to move towards the door, drumsticks in hand.

“It's quite alright, I don't need to use the space. Stay there.” His accent winds around his words like smoke, and his smile is half snarl. He's tall, mid-forties, clad in a cool ensemble: black T-shirt, black slacks, black shoes. His hair is all wispy, dirty-blonde locks draping onto his face. He's got cheekbones that could cut fucking glass and a thick set of lips with a soft cupid's bow. He leans his shoulder against a nearby cabinet, folds his arms across his chest, and stares straight into the hazel aquamarine of Adam's eyes. And then, softly (because he's one of those people whose whispers are enough to make anyone shit themselves):

[](http://imgur.com/a/UHOq7)

“What's your name?”

“Adam Raki.”

“What year are you?”

“I'm a first-year.”

“You know who I am?”

“Yes...”

“You're aware then, of what I do?”

“Yes...”

“So you know I'm looking for players.”

“Yes...”1

“Then why did you stop playing?” Nigel's tone is flat and his face expressionless as he says this. Silence fills the room.

Adam's left thumb begins to stroke at the smooth surface of one of his drumsticks. He starts trying to identify his feelings so he can react appropriately. It's not helping that he is keenly aware of how much he is and has been attracted to this man with whom he's often watched but never spoken to. Adam's head becomes a potent mixture of apprehension, bravado, and an erotic need-to-please, and then holy hell he gets it and without second guessing himself he sits back down in the drummer's throne and starts playing again.

He's really showing off this time – six-stroke rolls blur into fills blur into speedy-stick work blur into light taps on cymbals blur into the shimmering strikes against a ride cymbal, finally crescendoing into a big fucking thunderous bang down onto the crash cymbal – and Adam is bursting with confidence as he stares right at Nigel and smiles, panting and waiting for him to comment.

“Did I say to commence playing again?”

Adam looks not at him, but just off to the side of his face out of embarrassment. “I thought,” and then, blanching, “I misunderstood...”

“I asked you why you stopped playing. Your version of an answer was to turn into a wind-up drummer monkey.”

Adam tries to answer the first question he misjudged so terribly, “I stopped playing because-” Then Nigel holds up a hand, cueing him to stop talking.

After removing his coat and folding it neatly over the back of a nearby chair, Nigel moves to a few paces in front of the drum set, standing rigid and tall, while the single light fixture above exaggerates the hollows of his eye sockets and cheekbones, producing a truly terrifying image. He lets a few beats go by and then instructs Adam, his voice deep, authoritative, “Show me your rudiments.”

At this, Adam becomes perplexingly rock hard in his slacks. He's pretty sure that this is not an appropriate response for the circumstances, but there's no time to dwell on such thoughts, because he's got to show the band leader what he can do.

Adam finally nods and sits, then plays one rudiment after another: double-stroke roll, paradiddle, ratamacue, flam, flamadiddle. Nigel snaps his fist up in cue for Adam to stop. “Alright, now. Double-time swing.” He cues Adam with a downturn of his right wrist and then begins clapping his hands in time, faster and faster, and Adam plays. “No. Double-time. Double it. Bop-bop-bop-bop-bop-bop-bop.” Adam tries doubling the tempo, but he can't. Nigel stops clapping – the sign of death – as Adam keeps playing, now with his eyes closed. Next, he hears the distinct sound of the door of the practice room closing. Adam stops playing and looks up to see that Nigel has gone, and his stomach sinks down to the floor. Adam starts stroking the drumstick in his left hand and looks down at his erection tenting in his pants. He thinks to himself that it's a good thing the middle tom is sitting where it is.

Suddenly, Nigel comes back and opens the door. Adam's face lights up with momentary hope – _maybe it's not over?_

Nigel goes to the chair near the doorway, “Silly me. Forgot my coat,” and then he's gone again.

Painfully aroused and completely deflated, Adam is left alone. He thinks to himself, _'It's over.'_

* * *

1\. The first time Adam saw Nigel, the jazz instructor and notorious band leader had backed a visibly shaken and particularly meek-looking saxophonist into a corner in the Studio Band room. The door to the room had been left open for all passers-by to witness this exceptionally brutal humiliation. Adam was one of five such lucky passers-by, as he was on his way to the Nassau Band room which he had started to use every weekday from seven-thirty in the evening to ten-thirty at night since his first semester at the conservatory began. His fellow fortunates whispered amongst themselves as to the identity of the ruthless man who acted with such vicious impunity.

With a fist grappling deep into the collar of the blubbering boy's polo shirt, Nigel was addressing the musician as 'Mr. Runty Cunt Saxophonist' and threatening to throw him out of his band, lest he get his fucking pitch right, and his face was pure intimidation and scars and wounded animal eyes, and, looking at his fearsome profile, it struck Adam that this was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.↩


	2. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam has a solo back at home after meeting the mysterious Studio Band leader; we get a peek into Adam's daily life at home.

  
[Hypnotic Brass Ensemble - Jupiter](http://picosong.com/xqcM)

_Break: A transitional passage in which a soloist plays unaccompanied._

 

Adam’s dress shoes drop audible footfalls onto the wooden steps of the stairwell in his Manhattan apartment building. He gets to his door, unlocks it, and goes inside. He navigates the darkened hallways of his apartment until he reaches his bedroom. Placing his bag on the floor of his room, he looks around at the walls: posters of Buddy Rich, in mid-solo glory, and reproduction prints of vintage Jazz gigs, featuring greats like Max Roach and Art Blakey, look down on him in invitation. _‘Come on, kid,’_ they seem to say. 

Later on, Adam is lying in bed in his sleeping pants and T-shirt. Soft dots of light from his planetarium flow over the planes of his body like organic particles suspended in the currents of a peaceful stream, and he is trying desperately just to sleep and not to think about the evening’s prior events. And then Nigel is standing there at the foot of his bed. 

Nigel is in his signature black suit, arms crossed and expression twisted in disapproval. “Show me your rudiments,” he says. Adam’s hands drift down his sides and stop at the waistband of his pants. 

“I can be the player you’re looking for,” Adam whispers. Anxiety roils up inside of him, and his eyes search the nearby side tables for his drumsticks. The textures of other objects can be soothing too, but the smooth wooden surfaces of his favorite tools are the absolute best. Nigel corners his bed and sits at its right edge. Knowing, Nigel says, “Well then, Adam, you’ll just have to make do with what you’ve got, won’t you?” So Adam let's his hands flow to where they want to go. They slide under his waistband, ready and waiting for the performance to begin. 

Nigel raises his right hand, and brings it down in cue. Adam’s hand wraps around himself and he begins a steady rhythm while maintaining eye contact with his private conductor. Nigel tuts at him, “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Raki, too rough,” and Adam takes this cue to remove his hand quickly and wet it generously with his tongue. Moving back to himself, the added saliva brings a slippery sensation to the delicious friction on the velvet underside of his shaft. He's all breathy pants and soft groans. Adam adds another tongue slicked hand to the top of the head, already weepy with precum, and rolls his palm around it in time with his other hand. “That's it, Adam. Now – double-time swing.” Adam increases his pace. “Double it. Faster, Adam.” Nigel is watching him intently, timing every stroke, every pulse, and Adam wants to be so on tempo for him. “Big finale, now, Mr. Raki.” 

Coyly, Adam turns his head to the left to bite down on his pillowcase, as the dim lights dance across his jutting jawline and the flexing trapezius of his neck. He takes one of his hands and fists it into the sheets while the other efficiently brings him to that place where he sees nothing but stars. Nigel smiles big, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and gives throaty praise to Adam, “Well, done, Mr. Raki. You may be just the player I'm looking for.” 

After cleaning up in the bathroom and changing his T-shirt, Adam goes back to his bed. Sitting on its right edge, he caresses the spot where Nigel was sitting, with drumstick callused hands.

♪♬♭

It's Saturday, and Adam is having his morning cereal at the dining room table when the phone rings. “Oh, hi Harlan,” Adam beams into the receiver. 

“How ya been, Adam?” 

“The Studio Band leader had me play for him yesterday.” 

“And how'd it go?” (Adam just kind of exhales into the phone. It's clear what it means.) “Well…You've still got other options,” Harlan says as he tries his best to sound cheery. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's good to be open-minded. You're young. When I was your age I was in the army and had not a clue what I was gonna do when I got out. I was able to find the line of work I liked in the end.” 

Adam doesn’t want to think about any contingencies. He wants to follow the lines he’d plotted for himself. Peering into the dining room, he looks at the table and the cereal flakes getting soggy in its bowl. He imagines what the texture will be like in his mouth, should he postpone eating them any longer. “I’m going to hang up now, Harlan.” 

Harlan lets out a little sigh on the other end of the line, “Okay, Adam. You take care of yourself now, you hear? And let me know what happened with you when I call next Saturday.” 

“I will. Bye, Harlan.” 

Adam gets his bowl and dumps his cereal in the sink. 

♪♬♭

Saturdays are cleaning days since Adam's schedule is full during the week. He tidies up systematically, always starting from the surfaces of the kitchen, on to the bookshelves and carpet of the living room, then the bathroom sink, toilet, and shower. In his room, he organizes the newly dried and folded laundry into his closet and dresser, changes the sheets, and dusts off his LPs. He lingers on some of the Buddy Rich albums, stroking the spines of their jackets with his fingertips, and he decides that the documentary he watches with dinner will be about his favorite drummer. He goes to his father's old room and vacuums the carpet, taking care not to disturb the white sheets draped over all the furniture to keep dust from accumulating in their crevices. Saving the best for last, he moves on to meticulously care for his prized collection of orreries and vintage cymbals in the hobby room. 

Piece by wondrous piece, he moves the mechanisms of the mini solar systems, making sure each gear is moving well, is properly oiled, and is dust-free. Delight dances upon his face as he watches the tiny celestial bodies rotate and orbit, their movements consistent, reliable, beautiful. After the orreries, he dusts his Turkish Ks carefully, and lightly polishes their tops while admiring the faint patina and factory markings on the undersides. Selecting a particularly gorgeous ride, he switches out the one on his set for it and practices his double-time swing as furiously as he can with a digital metronome. He goes from 380, to 390, to 400, until his forearms are so sore he can barely grasp his sticks. 

♪♬♭

The microwave beeps and then Adam is bringing his chicken and macaroni to the table, set for one. His laptop is open and ready, and he pushes the play button to start his Buddy Rich documentary. As he eats, audio of rapid drumming plays over stills of a boy at his drum set, and narration begins: 

Narrator Voice-over - _By the age of ten, Traps the Boy Wonder was wowing crowds all over America. By his teens, Buddy Rich was well on his way to becoming the stuff of legend. Later, as an established and successful band leader and entrepreneur, Rich became well known for his temper, mercurial attitude, and imposing personality._

Talking Head #1 – _I recorded the ‘Buddy Tapes’ in the spirit of awe and reverence for Rich’s wisdom, professionalism and steely command. These tapes were made because I knew that they were historic. Through it all the message was of excellence and perfection and bringing your best talent to the bandstand._

A recording of Buddy Rich, screaming at his band members on their tour bus is played over photographs of an older Rich playing intently at his drum kit - _I’m up there workin’ my balls off tryin’ to do somebody a favor and you motherfuckers are suckin’ all over this joint. What kind of trumpet section do you call this tonight? And saxophones! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! What is this? New phrasing, new bending, new sounds, no time. What the fuck do you think I’m runnin’ here? Sit down and play some fuckin’ music!_

Narrator Voice-over – _Although Rich was usually helpful and friendly, he had a short temper. While he threatened many times to fire members of his band, he seldom did so, and for the most part he lauded his band members during television and print interviews._

Talking Head #2 – _Rich had a soft heart underneath it all. His favorite song was ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green’._

Adam listens attentively and tries to imagine himself there on that bus back in 1983, being in the presence of a jazz legend, and taking the abuse in stride so that he could become something greater than himself.


	3. Chops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one really believes in Adam's abilities, until the most important person who could believe in him comes along to give him a chance.

  
[Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers - No Problem](http://picosong.com/xq99)

_Chops: Technical ability, to execute music physically and to negotiate chord changes. Distinct from the capacity to have good ideas, to phrase effectively and build a solo._

 

Almost a week and a half has past and Adam is in the same cavernous room in which he met Nigel, only now it's full of musicians and bustling with the sounds of pre-practice rabble. Guys and girls tell embellished lies about their weekend debauchery, as they dust out the tubes of their brass, tune their instruments, and prep their sheet music for the day's practice. This band is one of Shaffer Conservatory's various lower-level jazz ensembles: Nassau Band. The members are almost entirely comprised of first to second-year players, but this being the school that it is, they are all still first-rate. A few third-years are here too, including a long-haired drummer with all the affected posturings of a pseudo hipster: Charlie Countryman. 

Charlie is at the door talking to his girlfriend Gabi as Adam looks on. He sees Charlie flirt freely into her ear, run his hand down her shoulder and arm. He sees the minute brushes of skin on skin, and the tips of his fingers tingle. He doesn't realize how touch starved he's been lately. Then she’s saying goodbye and Charlie is making his way over to the kit. Sitting down in the drummer's throne and grabbing his sticks, he smiles genially at Adam sitting in the alternate's seat beside. 

“You have a good weekend, bro?” 

“It was fine…and my name is Adam.” 

“Haha, good one!” He smacks Adam on the shoulder and puts his long bangs behind his ears. “You been practicing?” Adam immediately stiffens and shuts his eyes tight. Not only do Charlie's presumptions seem ill conceived and patronizing to Adam, they irritate right down to Adam's last nerve. Analyzing Charlie's wording in his mind pains him: _Bro? Good one? Good what??? Of course I practice, I’m a musician. You are a musician. We are all musicians here learning our trade and we need to practice in order to do so. What nonsense is this?_

Adam tries his best to put on a straight face, “Everyday. And don’t touch me, please.” 

“Whoa chill, man. It was just a friendly pat. I liked your joke.” 

“Chill?” 

“Yeah, I was just being chummy.” 

“I’m not hot. And. What joke did I make?” 

Then the band conductor, Mr. Darko, appears and takes his post at the front. Sitting on his stool, he glances at the sheets on his music stand. “Morning. 'Billie's In', bar 8.” Darko claps off in time and the band begins playing their rehearsal piece in mid-tempo. Charlie's drumming is confident and in control. Adam watches and turns his pages. 

“Nice, Charlie..." and then, Darko winces at some stray notes, "Woah, trumpets.” 

The trumpeter in the second chair starts apologizing when the guitarist behind Adam whispers to get Charlie's attention and gestures toward the door. A silhouette is visible through the frosted glass of the main door. It is Nigel's distinctive figure draped all in black. Adam turns to look with Charlie and all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he feels every nerve come alive all the way down his spine. Nigel lingers only a moment longer and then walks away. Charlie shakes his head at the guitarist, “Not today.” 

Darko doesn't notice. “Just brass, again from bar 8.”

♪♬♭

Rehearsal ends and Adam is the last to be in the room after all the other musicians have filed out. Adam puts things in his bag at a languid pace, sighing all the while. Darko sees him and approaches, “Are you learning from Charlie?” 

Adam's voice is markedly without intonation, more so than usual. “There are a few techniques of his I have adapted.” 

Darko nods where he is standing. “Good, good.” 

“Mr. Darko, what do you think of my progress?” 

“Your progress?” One of Darko's eyebrows lift in confusion. 

“I have been practicing really hard.” 

“That's good, Adam.” 

“You see, I ask because I heard Nigel's Studio Band is looking for players and I want to know if you think I have the potential to be accepted.” 

After taking a few breaths and mulling over what he should say, Darko grabs a chair and pulls it up next to where Adam is, he hunches his shoulders downward and, resting his elbows on his knees, interlaces his fingers, gesturing with them as he speaks. “Yeah, Adam...you know, Lincoln Center looks out for Nigel's top players. If it weren't for Charlie's injury last year he would have more than likely gotten in.” Darko stops making eye contact with Adam. 

Adam is perplexed by his teacher's body language. The last time he remembers seeing someone in a similar way is when his dad's army buddy, Harlan, had a serious talk with Adam after his father passed away about taking care of financial matters with the apartment and other things. Why won't Darko just answer his question? Why does he keep talking about Charlie? “Ok...” is all Adam can manage. 

Darko hesitates, but starts making eye contact with Adam again. “I'm going to be candid – Ninety percent of our players will never make it into the Lincoln Centers or the Collectives. And you know Shaffer only accepts capable musicians. The question is, who is in that top ten percent? You're good, Adam. But you've got to have something more to get in with Nigel's players. Charlie exudes a natural confidence that translates into his playing. I hope you can absorb some of that from him. You've got the chops, but...I just can't say anything about your progress at this point.”

♪♬♭

Adam is on his way to have his lunch outside when he passes by the Studio Band room. The door is closed so he walks up to the glass window and peers in. He can see a full orchestra. Everyone looks older and more focused than in his band. All eyes are glued on Nigel as he takes his position. His hand moves in the slightest and the band starts playing. 

Their sound is fast, precise, a wall of sound, and Adam can't help but feel overwhelmed with awe. Nigel catches Adam's movement in his peripheral and turns his head to make eye contact. Adam ducks quickly out of view. _Shit._

♪♬♭

The days pass by, Adam practices his double-time swing until the crease between his thumb and pointer finger bleeds, and the monotony of each class and practice session blend into each other, and, for once in Adam's life, his routines, which were once reassuring and pleasant, have become something tedious and vaguely apprehension-inducing as he drifts further and further away from realizing his dream of becoming great at drumming. It also does not help that his body has been increasingly craving something he can't quite put his finger on, though it is undoubtedly sexual in nature, and all Adam can try to do is not think of the attractive band leader who rejected him that night in the practice room.

And now Adam sits in that room again, playing the drums with his band. Unfocused and emotional, he keeps missing hits. Mr. Darko's brow furrows from listening to Adam's playing and he cues the band to stop. “Alright, that's enough of that. Back to just the core drums, please.” Charlie switches with Adam. Just then, the door to the room swings open so quickly it slams into the wall and scares the living shit out of everyone in the room. In steps Nigel. All eyes go to him. All talking ceases. There is only the sound of his leather shoes squeaking as they flex against the varnished hardwood floorboards. Adam can hear his pulse pounding in his ears while he holds his breath in anticipation. 

Making eye contact with Darko, Nigel steps up to the music stand and lifts his hand to the side, palm upward, and asks, “May I?” 

Darko steps aside, “Be my guest.”

Nigel props up the music stand to his height, looks down at the sheet music, and runs his finger down it before finding the spot he wants. He surveys the band with an intense look. Then, raising his hand, “Down the line.” Everyone's instruments snap up with military precision. “Trumpets. Bars thirty six to thirty eight. One, two...” The trumpeter on the right plays five notes before Nigel cuts him off with his hand. “Next.” The second trumpeter misses his cue. Nigel looks like he is seriously questioning why he bothered coming in here. “Trombone. Bars twenty one to twenty three. Four and..” The trombonist knocks his sheet music off his stand with his instrument. “I think not...Saxes. Forty eight to fifty.” The alto sax gets through one bar. “Next.” Before Nigel even starts counting off, he takes one look at the tenor sax's fingering and scoffs. He looks at Darko and smirking says, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Then he goes back to finish what he came here to do. 

“Now, drums.” Charlie is at the ready. “Double-time swing.” Nigel claps him off and Charlie plays in his usual care-free and confident style. Nigel cues him to stop. “Thank you. You. Behind.” Adam steps into Charlie's place. He's all nerves and excitement, but he does his best to focus that nervous energy into his hands. Nigel claps and Adam plays, trying to get the motions right, trying to stay in time. Determination is painted clear as day on the features of his face. “Thank you, that's enough.” Adam switches back with Charlie. 

Nigel gives the band a once over, then, sighing, he says, “Drums. Come with me.” Charlie looks excited and a little smug as he goes to stand up and follow Nigel. Then Nigel shakes his head and points at Adam, “No, other drums.” Charlie freezes while Adam is just stuck in his place for a moment, mouth open in surprise. 

He thinks to himself, _'Is this really happening?'_

He finally gets up and goes to Nigel now standing in the doorway. Up close, Adam takes in the heady combination of nicotine, clean sweat, and the tasteful cologne that is Nigel's scent. He trembles ever so as he goes to reach for the slip of paper in Nigel's hand. “Give this to Admin for rescheduling. Room B16. We meet 4PM to 6PM every weekday. Don't be late.” And with that, Nigel exits. 

In a daze, Adam walks on light feet back to his spot. He looks, first at Charlie and then at Darko, with the dreamiest grin ever, feeling absolutely vindicated.


	4. Clinker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's first day in Studio Band sets the tone for how things will be.

  
[Acoustic Ladyland - Deck Chair](http://picosong.com/xqQx)

_Clinker- A bad note or one that is fluffed._

Over the weekend, Adam's gut was like a ping-pong ball passed back and forth in a rapid game of skill and fury, as he tried to reconcile his feelings of elation at progressing in his position at the conservatory, with the anxiety of the inevitable changes that went with that progression. The time and setting in which he had become very comfortable for the past semester and a half were all about to change. He would be spending different hours in a different room doing different things with different people. He tried his best to focus on the positive and to try to get used to the idea of his new arrangement. He printed out his new timetable, including the room and band he'd now be playing with every weekday, laminated the sheet, and looked at it any time he had a meal or was having moments of rest to himself. He imagined himself in this new situation with and thanks to the alluring and intimidating new band leader of whom he would now be under tutelage, warming up to the idea more and more every time it crossed his mind. 

Monday morning came too quickly. Adam came into the Studio Band room an hour early so he could sit and fret about it in private. He sat in the drummer’s throne with his eyes closed, and stimmed with his drumsticks until the clock read three fifty-seven. The door then suddenly burst open with the coming in of the studio’s core members. 

The first are saxophonists, big guys who walk with an exaggerated machismo and have an abundance of facial hair. They pay Adam no mind as they shoot the shit and take their seats. Then come in the trombonists, the trumpeters, the bass player, the guitarist, and the pianist. They are all male. All third or fourth-year students. The room is thick with the scent of testosterone. A few moments later, a few guys come in that Adam can identify with. They are boys with smaller builds, a cloud of apprehension hovering above them. They look down at the floor as they take their seats behind their respective sections. They are alternates like him.

Adam watches as the players take out their instruments and prepare. They buzz their mouthpieces, whip open their music folders, test out their axes. The room is a flutter of activity and chatter. Next, one of the core members comes over to the drums: Luc, a third-year. Without making eye contact, he addresses Adam briskly, “You the new alternate?” 

Standing up, Adam introduces himself as he extends his hand in greeting, “Yes, my name is Adam Raki.” Luc does not bother to shake his hand and just starts tending to his things as he commands Adam: “Tune the set to a B-flat. Then you’ll turn my pages during rehearsal.” Adam, nervous, sits back down at the drums and asks the pianist to play a B flat for him. Then he pulls out the Tama tuner that he always keeps in his right side pocket and adjusts the drums of the set. He goes to ask the pianist to play the B flat for him one more time to verify it’s in tune, when Luc suddenly comes up and motions for Adam to let him have the stool. He stands up quickly and moves to the alternate’s seat. A saxophonist stands up to shush the room for tuning time, then the piano plays a continuous middle C until everyone is good and tuned. Adam looks around the room, taking in all the intricacies of the bustle, before fixing his eyes to the hands of the clock. The second hand ticks and ticks until the time reaches precisely four o’clock. 

Like a tyrant king arriving at court, Nigel busts in at four on the dot to face his trembling subjects. The room is thick with tension, and utter silence reigns as Nigel looks at his band. His brow is furrowed in solemnity and he makes sure they know he is silently judging them. Then he puts down his music folder on the stand and hangs his coat on a nearby rack. Going back to the stand, he finally begins to address the room, switching over to warm and cuddly as he smiles broadly. “We’ve got a squeaker today, gentlemen. Raki. Nineteen years old. Isn’t he adorable?” A tenuous snicker overcomes the band. Adam looks at Nigel, as the latter maintains his shark-toothed grin. “Alright: ‘Whiplash’.” 

The players all get out the chart. When Adam catches a glimpse, he sees an intimidating cluster fuck of notes and time signatures. This band is not fucking around. Nigel raises his hand, and with a flick of his wrist sends the band into an impressive feat of musicality. The chart’s named ‘Whiplash’ for a reason. The piece is fast, written in a frenetic 7/4 time signature, and with this many polyrhythms, it’s impossibly hard. 

Measures pass by and Adam is transfixed by Luc's playing, so much so that he forgets to turn at the right part. Luc snaps at him, “Page..PAGE!” Adam knows he shouldn't have to be told when to turn the page and becomes disappointed in himself. Luc glares at him. Adam can barely follow. The band's playing is too fast. 

Nigel brings a hand up, “Stop. You. Barker.” Nigel points at the trumpeter in the third chair. “This is not your morning jerk-off. Do not come early. Moving ahead everyone. Bar ninety-three.” All the players flip their sheet music and Adam catches a glimpse of a trombonist ejecting the spit from his horn, forming a puddle at his feet. Nigel begins to cue them again, “Five-six-seven...” The band continues its intense, visceral rendition of 'Whiplash' as Nigel paces back and forth, eyes players as they play. With fox's ears he catches something and every sinew of his body tenses up. 

“Stop!” The band comes to a halt.

“Now this one is spectacularly upsetting. We have an out of tune player. Before I go any further, does that player want to do the right thing and reveal himself?” No one says anything. “Perhaps I'm hearing things. Bar one fifteen. Five-six-and...” He cues the band with his hand, not long before cutting them off again. “Nope. No auditory hallucinations here because we definitely have an out-of-tune player. Whoever it is, this is your last chance.” Nigel paces more; no one says anything. “Aaaaand, there it went. Now, either you know you are out of tune, and are therefore deliberately sabotaging my band, or you do not know you're out of tune, which I'm afraid is even worse. Reeds. Five-six-and...” They play, he cuts them off. “Bones. Five-six-and...” They play, he cuts them off. “Ahhhhh, he's here.” Nigel eyes the trombonists, one by one, before landing on a certain player: Karl.

Karl is a quiet redhead who seems to often fade into the background. He can hang with the guys, but just barely. “Tell me it's not you, carrot-top.” Karl sits there trembling, on the brink of tears. “It's okay. Play.” Karl blows out a pathetic note. “Do you think you're out of tune?” Karl, terrified, starts looking down at the floor. Nigel's getting angrier. “What the fuck are you looking at down there? Look at me.” Karl uses all his willpower to look into Nigel's eyes. “Do you think you're out of tune?” Karl nods. “Then why the FUCK didn't you say so?” This is the first time Nigel's really raised his voice and the whole room is dead silent. Adam grips his drumsticks tight as he watches the whole terrible scene go down. “I've been carrying your ridiculous cunt for too long, Karl. I will not have you cost us a competition because you lack the common fucking decency to be on pitch when it's time to play. Get the fuck out.” 

Karl is audibly sniffling as he stands up and awkwardly gets out of his seat, picking up his things and making for the door, then slamming it shut. 

Nigel waits a moment before the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly into a sardonic smile and he continues, “For the record, Karl wasn't out of tune, you were Wallach (gesturing at the second chair trombonist). But Karl didn't know it, and that's bad enough." Then, Nigel looks straight at Adam and says, “Alright, take ten everyone. When we come back, it's time to see what our squeaker here has got for us.” 

All the color drains from Adam's face.


	5. Out of the Pocket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's first day of Studio Band ends badly, as he sees Nigel's true colors; but, it seems there is more going on between them beyond the violent pressure to perform with excellence.

  
_Pocket - In the pocket means perfectly in time, especially playing that is 'in the center' of the beat (rather than slightly leading or dragging the beat)._

Adam sits on the floor in the corner of the hallway outside the practice room with the 'Whiplash' music sheet in his hand. He is trying desperately to count the beats, “Five-six-seven...Six-two-two-five...” He scribbles on the page, trying to compute the patterns: “7/9 + 7/4 = 7/18....1/64 x 7/9...” The footsteps of the other players keep streaming by, their movements and noise like traffic seen through a window, fast and muted through the glass shield of Adam's focused mind. Then, a distinctive set of dress shoes comes up right next to where Adam is sitting and stops, shattering his shield of concentration. Looking up and seeing Nigel, Adam scrambles to his feet to address him. Nigel smiles and puts his arm around Adam's shoulder, slowly walking them down the hall. 

“Listen, Mr. Raki. I know what you saw in there must have been quite distressing, but there's a difference. It's your first day. Karl had been dragging mud for two years.” Nigel stops and turns to look Adam right in his eyes. Adam blushes and looks down at the floor. “This is a huge opportunity for you. You know that?” Adam nods enthusiastically. 

“Not very fond of eye contact, are you?” Nigel asks, tilting his head and crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

Adam tries his best to look at him, but settles on the side of Nigel's face instead. “Eyes are a little too intense for me.” 

Nigel takes in a slow breath, seems to accept this bit of information, then continues his train of thought. “You know, Charlie Parker became 'Bird' because Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head. You understand what I mean?” Adams nods, even though he doesn't get it at all. 

“The key is to relax. Don't worry about the numbers or what the other players are thinking. You're here for a reason. You believe that, right?” Adam nods again. 

“Say it.” 

In his last words, Nigel's tone changes from warm to peremptory. The command does something to Adam, adds color to his cheeks, creates a tingling in the back of his neck. The lids of his eyes flutter shut and his answer is almost an exhale as he says, “I'm here for a reason.” 

Without thinking, Nigel brings his hand up to Adam's face to stroke his cheek with the backs of his knuckles, “Good.” 

Adam's pulse rate goes up and he doesn't know what to make of this intimate gesture. Nigel cuts it off before any emotional interpretations can be made on both their parts and promptly turns to go back down the hall while calling out, “Now go have fun!” 

Out of Adam's sight in the practice room, Nigel touches his knuckles where he had brushed them against Adam's cheek, the skin there now tingling. He wonders to himself what could have possessed him to touch the alternate so tenderly, but smiles something small anyway.

♪♬♭

  
[King Krule - Lizard State](http://picosong.com/xukv)

  


Break is over now and all the players are taking their seats. Adam walks back in to find Luc sitting in the alternate's seat. The drummer's throne is empty and **just waiting for him.** _'I can do this,'_ he thinks to himself. He adjusts the seat before sitting down, grabs his drumsticks, and gives his sheet music another once over. “Attention,” Adam looks up to see that Nigel has just entered and is ready to cue everyone to start. “'Whiplash'. A little under tempo, okay?” Nigel eyes Adam, “Raki, just do your best.” Adam is ready. 

Nigel claps the band off to 'Whiplash' at mid-tempo, far easier than before. Adam is keeping up and doing well, prompting Nigel to smile and nod along with the beat. “Ok, now let's see some fills.” Adam fills, rolling down the toms. Nigel keeps grinning. Adam feels amazing, he gets more and more into it and the band seems to build along with him in intensity. Adam fills again. Nigel throws his hands in the air, pseudo impressed, “Seems we have Buddy Rich here, gentlemen.” Adam fills again, accenting and starting to play a counter-rhythm, when he trips up and comes in a hair late. Nigel waves at the band to stop. “A little trouble there. No problem. Let's pick it up from seventeen.” Nigel claps Adam off to start playing from the spot where he had trouble before. Adams slips up again. Nigel's fist shoots up to stop the band. “Not my tempo.” Nigel claps again. Then another wave for Adam to stop. “Downbeat on eighteen.” Nigel is yet still soft and calm. He claps again, then, stopping, “You're rushing a little.” 

Adam's getting really nervous now. Nigel claps again. Stops again. “Not quite my tempo, all good. Okay.” He's about to clap off when, out of nerves, Adam hits his bass drum early. “No. Ready?” Nigel claps. Stops Adam yet again. “You're dragging a little now.” Nigel claps. Stops. “Rushing.” Nigel claps. Stops. “Dragging.” Adam is filled with worry now, berating himself internally. _'Come on, Adam. Get it together!'_

Nigel claps again. Adam plays and expects another stop but it doesn't come. Nigel nods as though now satisfied, then slowly turns around. He puts his hand on a spare folded chair and looks like he's about to sit down when, like a flash of lightning, he whips up the chair and hurls it straight above Adam's head and Adam ducks just in time. The chair makes a huge cracking sound as it impacts with the wall behind Adam. He slowly straightens up. The room is fucking crickets. He's shell-shocked and beyond shaken like, _what the fuck just happened?_

Nigel looks nonchalantly over at Adam and, as though discussing the day's weather, asks, “Why do you suppose I just threw a chair at your head, Raki?” 

“I...I...I don't know.” 

“Sure you do.” 

“The tempo?” 

“Were you rushing or were you dragging?” 

“I don't know.” 

Nigel bounds at him like a fucking beast and gets right up next to him, leaning down to Adam's seated level. “Start counting.” Adam is like a deer in headlights. He takes a moment to respond, then starts counting off, “Five-six-seven...” 

“In four, dammit!” 

“One-two-three-four...” Nigel slaps Adam on his left cheek. Adam looks like a deer in headlights, eyes unfocused and mouth slightly ajar. Then, “Keep counting.” 

Adam starts, “One-two-three-four...” - another slap. “One-two-three-four...” a third slap. Nigel speaks between gritted teeth, “Now. Was I rushing or was I dragging?” 

Adam's visibly shaking now. He's terrified, but the endorphins are rushing through his system in response to the violence, and he's also, so, so, very turned on. “You were rushing.” 

Nigel nods, and his voice takes on a huskier, less angry tone. “So, you do know the difference. Now are you a rusher or a dragger, or are you gonna be on my fucking time?” 

Adam looks at him, and something's changed in his eyes. Terror has shifted into a longing. He wants approval from Nigel, he wants to make him proud. “I'm gonna be on your time.” 

Nigel walks back over to his music stand. “Luc.” Luc exchanges chairs with Adam silently. “Start practicing harder, Raki. Everyone else, 'Whiplash' again, from the top.” The band starts up again but Adam is not focusing on their playing. He's getting hard in his slacks. He puts his palms up against his cheeks and feels them still warm from being struck. He thinks about Nigel's tone and authority and blood rushes even more steadily down to his groin. He crosses his legs in an attempt to hide his arousal, even though no one is looking at him. He starts processing what happened and, although it was a very exciting experience, Adam decides that he didn't like being hit without his permission, and the only way to keep something like that from happening without warning again was to let Nigel know. He would go talk to him after rehearsals. That should give his dick enough time to calm down as well. His first day of Studio Band is over.

♪♬♭

After practice ended, Adam went outside into the common area to his usual eating spot and had his packed dinner of chicken and macaroni. After having dinner, Adam decided enough time had passed for Nigel to be back in his office and alone, so he gathered his things quickly and went to the bathroom. Checking his appearance in the mirror, he wet his hands and ran it through his hair in an attempt to make it neater. He checked his clothes to make sure everything was tucked in right and in place.

Now, on his way out of the bathroom, he bumps into Charlie. “Oh, hey, Adam! I never got to say congratulations. Congrats, man.” 

Adam is in a hurry, “Thank you. I have to go.” 

Charlie keeps talking, like he didn't hear what Adam said. “So, tell me, what's Studio Band like?” 

Adam is fidgeting. He wants to go see Nigel now and he most definitely wants to not be here stuck talking to Charlie Countryman. “I have to go now, Charlie.” 

Charlie looks a little offended, but secedes to Adam's farewell anyway. “Okay Adam, see you around.”

♪♬♭

Adjacent to the Studio Band room is Nigel's office. With the door open, most of its contents can be seen from the majority of the seats in the practice room. Like most university faculty offices, it has a simple set up of a large desk in the middle of the room, with high shelves of books and photos lining the walls. This is not during office hours, but Nigel is known to be in his office late into the evenings anyway.

Adam knocks. Nigel calls out for him to come in, and is genuinely surprised to see Adam walking into the room. Adam comes up to the front of Nigel's desk and maintains eye contact with the floor the whole time he stands there waiting for an indication to start talking. Nigel's eyes drink him in, from tiptoes to brown curls. He admires Adam's neat appearance: the dress shoes, his pressed slacks, the dress shirt folded at the elbows showing off toned forearms. He recalls the first night he saw Adam practicing in the other band room and the image that had emblazoned itself onto his memory: Adam panting, skin sweat drizzled and brown curls clinging to his face, expression showing his drive and his eagerness to please Nigel. And now Adam is here in his office, just the two of them. 

Nigel walks around his desk and inserts himself into the small space between Adam and the wooden furniture. Adam doesn't flinch or adjust his position, he just stays where he is. Nigel gets impatient. “Well, spit it out, Adam.” Adam shoots his eyes up in surprise to look at Nigel, _he remembered my first name?_

“Well, you see, I can take the yelling and the cursing and the intimidation, but, earlier, you hit me without my permission. You shouldn't touch people without their consent, Nigel. You're taking away their agency.” This kid's got balls. 

“So, what, Adam, are you upset that I slapped you in front of everyone?” 

Adam begins a furious blush that bleeds down to beneath the collar of his shirt. He breaks eye contact and wears a tiny smile. “It's not like that, Nigel. I was actually very aroused...it's just...I know you're old fashioned. You like motivating by using belittling language and physical intimidation, like a football coach or something. I can cope with that, but I cannot abide being touched without my consent. I draw the line there.” Now it's Nigel's turn to be shell-shocked. 

“I beg your pardon, Adam. Did you say that you were...aroused?” 

Adam's fidgeting in place now, “Very much so. But you're completely missing my point.” 

Nigel takes in this new knowledge, and tilts his head a few degrees to the right as he processes it in his mind. He considers the implications of Adam's words and reactions. _This changes things._ Nigel still puts up an authoritative front. “Okay, Adam. So let me get this straight. I can yell at you and call you names and it's acceptable in the name of student motivation. I can get in your face and deride you in front of the whole fucking group and it's all copacetic. But I should not put my hands on you unless you've consented to it beforehand. You've come here, outside of office hours, after a shit performance, taking up my personal time to inform me of all this?” 

Adam's heart starts pounding in his chest, “Yes.” 

The band leader leans back against the desk and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Nigel is intrigued. Adam does not immediately radiate assertive confidence, and yet here he is, nervous and fidgety but being perfectly open with the conductor. Nigel finds this straightforwardness refreshing. Adam is not being disrespectful or stepping out of place or trying to suck up to him. He is standing up for himself while still maintaining the power imbalance that exists between them. 

Adam wants to tell Nigel everything that is going through his mind, but settles on the thoughts at the forefront. “I am so thankful to have been accepted into Studio Band. And I'm going to make sure I don't disappoint you.” Nigel stays stone faced and says nothing. “I'll be going now.” And with that Adam turns around and marches out of Nigel's office and down the hall. A moment passes and Nigel peeks out the practice doorway at Adam's retreating figure, with a huge smile on his face.


	6. The Missing Chart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam has his very first competition with Studio Band - and fucks up big time.

  
_Chart - Any musical score._

Weeks of intense practicing have gone by, and now the studio band is at its first competition of the spring season. The representative band of another conservatory is currently wrapping up their performance piece, a lively rendition of 'Swingin' on a Star' (which would certainly put any listener in a giddy mood, but is hardly a good choice to show off musicianship in a competition). Adam and the rest of his band mates are waiting with their instruments and chart folders in the green room back stage, all dressed spiffily in neat black suits, white dress shirts, and black ties. Not seeing Nigel anywhere, Adam goes seeking for him. 

Looking out from the green room doorway, he spots his teacher chatting with a man and his daughter in the corridor. “Great to see you, man," says Nigel as he gives him a warm hug. “And you,” he says to the little girl, “I haven't seen you since you were about this tall.” Nigel holds his right hand out, palm downward, at just below waist level. Nigel's face bears the softened expression people often have when speaking with a child, his mouth the shape of the warm smile a kind uncle might wear. 

“Are you playing an instrument yet?” 

“She just started piano last week,” her father answers for her. 

“Really?! I need more pianists. You gonna come play for me when you're a college hot-shot?” The girl nods enthusiastically, and returns Nigel's high five when he offers it. Then, Nigel turns and notices Adam watching them, causing Adam to retract his neck back inside. 

  
[Hank Levy - Whiplash](http://picosong.com/xqUS)

A moment later, Nigel is swaggering back into the room. “Okay, get out your music.” Everyone hurriedly looks at their charts and listens as Nigel continues, “'Irene' only for Set One. Rhythm section out first. Luc, the kit is a tonal catastrophe. Get it in tune. Rhythm and soloists, we’re augmenting the dominant in measure forty-five. Everyone else sharp the nine at bar one-o-six. Got it?” The conductor looks out at his players, makes sure they're paying close attention. “Now remember. Lincoln Center and its ilk use these competitions to decide who they want. And I am not about to have my record in that department stained by a bunch of sour-note flexible-tempo flatter-than-their-girlfriend dipshits. And another thing...” he holds up a music folder, “...if I ever see one of these lying about unattended to again, I swear to God I will stop being so polite. Do we have an understanding, gentlemen?” 

Everyone answers in unison, “Yes!” 

Now, it's the band's turn to go out on stage. They file out neatly and approach their spots. Luc reaches the drums first and quickly tunes the set. “Stick bag,” says the core drummer, as he extends his hand, waiting to receive them from Adam. After grabbing them, he passes the music folder to Adam, who places it on the music stand, then adjusts it to the correct height. 

Everyone gets settled as Nigel steps out on stage and takes his position. A few beats pass before Nigel raises his hands and the instruments snap up in absolute conjunction. Then, his hand moves in a way so subtle that one would have to practice intense focus to notice it. Miss it and everyone's fucked. The band launches into the music piece. First, the subtle rasping of the snare drum and a low bass line, then, the big brassy sound of the band in full swing. Adam taps his feet with Luc's playing, while looking intently at the sheet music, missing his cue to turn the page. “Fucking page!” Luc screeches low at Adam, and Adam does as he's told. 

Nigel's eagle eye sees all and it isn't long before he's coming over to Luc, “Get it the fuck together! Now!” Then, with Nigel's back turned, Luc turns his focus to glare at Adam. With each measure, Luc's getting more and more pissed off at Adam. 

The piece ends and the band trickles back to the back stage again, to wait for their next turn. Luc, still obviously pissed at Adam, shoves his music folder into Adam's chest, “Hold onto this for the second set.” Then he goes off to talk with some of the other core players. Adam sits nervously at a set of chairs not far off, in the corridor outside the green room. He had done his best in the past weeks to get used to the notion of going to competitions, but the actual traveling around and being in new places is still causing him great anxiety. Not to mention fucking up with the page turning… _ugh_ his gut is starting to turn in on itself, so Adam decides to buy a soda from the nearby vending machine, motor humming away and brightly colored beverages displayed in the front window.

He leaves the music folder on his previously occupied chair and walks over to the machine. Adam closes his eyes for a few moments, trying to block out the sound of the machine noise of the vendor. It's even louder this close up. Then, after digging out the exact change from his pocket, he makes his purchase, opens up the can, and takes a great big sip. He walks back to his chair to finish his soda when he sees that the music folder has disappeared. Adam immediately becomes frantic and starts searching around the chairs and on the floor, when Luc comes up, “Come on it's almost time to go on. I wanna take a look at the music.” Then, he sees Adam looking around, music folder nowhere to be seen. Luc's eyes start darting around in search and then he joins Adam's looking about. And now in the hallway of this east coast music hall, these pitiable men have been reduced to scrambling around in boyish panic, crawling on the floor, and cursing. Obviously nothing is to be found in the nearby vicinity, especially not a big fucking black music folder. 

“How could you be so fucking stupid!” Luc's face is beet-red with anger. 

Adam is shaking now, “Maybe...maybe a janitor came by and took it by mistake.” 

“A fucking janitor! A janitor!? Find the fucking folder, Adam!” 

And then one of the core saxophonists comes over to see what's going on. Luc grabs the player's arm and, looking for some sympathy, yells, “Adam lost my music folder!” 

The player starts laughing, not out of schadenfreude, but rather it is a nervous laughter, and, “Oh man, Nigel is gonna lose his shit.” The mere mention of Nigel's name causes Luc and Adam to look at each other in mutual fear, like two brothers about to get their ears boxed by a strict, ball-busting mother. 

And just like that, a big accented voice booms down the hall, “Drums! Where the hell is Luc?” Luc grabs Adam and drags them both bodily back to the green room. 

Nigel's back is to them, so Luc addresses him, “We have an issue.” 

Nigel slowly turns around, and his brows have already become furrowed in angry confusion. “Now is not the fucking time, Luc.” 

“I gave Adam the folder. Adam lost it.” Nigel looks at Adam, his face twists into disbelief like, _this is a fucking joke, right?_

Nigel clarifies:“Adam lost it.” 

Luc, a complete, spine-less tattle-tale, let's out an enthusiastic, “Yes!” 

Nigel is a hair's breadth away from a melt-down, “The folder is YOUR fucking responsibility, Luc! Now get your ass on-stage before I-” 

Luc starts making eye-contact with the floor. “I can’t...” 

“Can’t what?” 

“I - I can’t go on-stage... I don’t know the charts by heart...” 

Squinting at him now, Nigel can't believe his ears. “Come again, fuckface?” 

“You know this...I have - I need the music, my memory...it’s, it needs visual cues...” 

“Visual cues??” 

“...it’s a medical conditio...” 

“A medical condition? What are you, Sanjay Gupta?? Play the fucking music!!” 

“I can’t.” 

Adam steps forward. He can salvage this. “I can.” Nigel and Luc both look at him. Neither was expecting him to chime in. Adam seems almost as surprised. 

“You know “Whiplash” _by heart?”_ Nigel’s nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath. It’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to shiver with pride. 

“Yes. Every measure. Every note.” 

For a brief instant, a warm look of approval flashes across Nigel's face. Then it’s back to his usual stoicism. “You'd better pray that your memory doesn't fail you, Raki. And I hope you've improved since last month – I am not about to start losing competitions, especially not thanks to you fuckheads.” Then Nigel addresses the rest of the band, “On fucking stage!”

♪♬♭

That day, Nigel's Studio Band took first place at the competition. Adam played nervously, yet flawlessly. Didn't mess up once. When the judge called them out, Nigel took the mic and thanked his players, making a special note to congratulate some of the players who had joined up more recently than others, yet still put in work and shone bright on stage when the time came. Adam stood behind all the others, staring at Nigel's profile, and beaming with joy. 


	7. Nigel's Unusual Technique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Adam take their first step into intimacy.

 

_Technique: the ability of instrumental and vocal musicians to exert optimal control of their instruments or vocal cords in order to produce the precise musical effects they desire._

 

Now the Monday following the competition, and it's a new rehearsal day in Studio Band. Adam walks in to find most of the players already seated. He passes the piano as the pianist jeers at him, “Don't go putting your hands on _my_ folder.” This day is not off to a good start.

Adam makes his way over to the drums warily. He sees Luc adjusting the cymbal stand and goes to help, when Luc spits out between ground teeth, his eyes closed in an attempt to keep from freaking out, “ **Do not touch the set.** ” So, Adam just takes his seat in the alternate's chair.

A few minutes later, Nigel comes in. He throws his jacket on the rack. The room stills. “Everyone, 'Cherokee' from the top....” he looks at Luc, “What are you doing?” Luc is very confused. “Core players only today, Luc. I don't have time for alternates.” The drummer doesn't move a muscle, he's absolutely stunned. Adam looks just as shocked. But, Nigel keeps staring. He's dead serious. Eventually, Luc slowly moves and switches places with Adam. And, calmly tossing this off even though he knows how much it hurts, Nigel continues, “Luc, make sure to turn Raki's pages.” Adam is the new core drummer. Luc just looks at the floor, devastated, and Adam doesn’t know whether to gloat or to console, so he says nothing.

♪♬♭

Rehearsals end and Adam makes sure to pack up extra slowly, so that he'll end up being the last player left in the practice room. When he decided to pursue this course of action, he can’t quite pinpoint, but here he is and he’s resolved to just fucking go for it. All day Adam had been playing very well, and it was clear he had earned his new position, but he still had so much he wanted to say to Nigel, to give him thanks, to seem appreciative, to say sorry for when he'd done wrong. He doesn’t know what will come of it, but he knows he needs to do something.

Everyone has now filed out, and only Nigel and Adam are sitting there, each in their respective spots, just looking at each other. After a few moments, Nigel breaks the silence.

“You’re still here, Mr. Raki?”

“Nigel, if you have some time now, I would like to speak with you in private.”

Nigel raises an eyebrow, and simply gestures towards the open door of his office with his hand, without standing up. Adam quietly gathers his things, walks through the door of Nigel’s office and stands in the middle of the room waiting. After having followed him in, Nigel takes a seat behind his desk. “You may set your things down on that chair,” he says, pointing at one of the two forest green Lawson chairs adjacent to his desk, normally reserved for consulting guests and students. Adam does as he’s told and then goes back to the middle of the room, then says nothing.

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Raki?” Nigel asks with an affected tone, but there is a certain look in his eyes, something in between great anticipation and ravenous hunger. He takes a pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes, a simple chrome Zippo lighter, and a heavy crystal ashtray from out of the uppermost drawer on the right side of the desk. He opens the Zippo with a tinny note and, with the slightest flick of his wrist, turns the flint wheel and ignites the wick, before lighting the cigarette placed between his lips. Nigel takes a deep first drag and wets his lips with his tongue after exhaling.

Normally, Adam is overly sensitive to strong smells and he finds them quite irritating, and so avoids the use of colognes, or the eating of strongly spiced food. Cigarette smoke is no exception, but in the current circumstances, he finds himself almost drawn to the smell, rather than averse to it. It is a stronger version of the vestigial traces of nicotine he first sampled on Nigel the day he came into the Nassau Band room and stood so very close. He lets it waft into his nostrils, and savors it before finally speaking.

“I’m glad you found my performance thus far satisfactory. I won’t forget how you reward those who work hard. I also really want to reiterate how sorry I am for misplacing the music folder. I know it was basically Luc’s responsibility, but I can’t help but feel remorse for the consequences of my actions and their implications for the entire band. I don’t want to think of what would’ve happened had I not known how to play ‘Whiplash’ without sheet music. I wouldn’t have been able to do that with every single piece we rehearse.”

Nigel ashes his cigarette and takes another drag. He considers Adam's thanks and apology for a few moments, before a devious little light bulb appears illuminated red above his head.

"You know Adam, that _is_ a problem that still needs to be resolved. One could almost surmise that you misplaced the folder deliberately in order to provide an opportunity to stand out for yourself-” At the very insinuation of Nigel’s words, Adam’s mouth opens in protest, but Nigel holds up a hand to shush him, “-but from the weeks you have spent in the band I can sense that this is not within your character to do. So then, you were just being fucking careless, weren’t you?”

Adam immediately looks down at the floor in shame. “I’m so sorry, Nigel. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, darling, we’ll have to make sure of that, won’t we?” And with this, his mouth slips into that distinctive shape that is pure Nigel, something half smile and half snarl. Adam’s head shoots up in attention. He focuses on Nigel’s words intently while making eye contact with Nigel as he speaks.

“You know, I sensed it, from the first time we met, that day in the Nassau Band room. Even before you admitted your…physical reactions…to my corporal disciplining. You have a predilection for education through pain and stern guidance, don’t you? It helps motivate you to betterment.” Nigel takes another, deep, drag.

Adam thinks about his words a moment, looking up to the ceiling. Then he answers, “To be honest, Nigel, you are the first to have…” he searches for an apt word, “…taught me in that manner. So, I can’t say whether or not I have a predilection to that kind of education. But,” and Adam starts chuckling at this, “what I do know is that it really turns me on.”

Nigel smiles slightly at the revelation, eyes moving to look down at the wood of his desk. He tries not to give away just how devastatingly erotic Adam’s straightforward way of talking is, especially when he’s telling him that he was sexually excited by Nigel’s behavior. He also doesn’t mind being Adam’s first in anything, not in the least. He clears his throat in an effort to hide his lusty joy. “Sensuality can be an alternative way of motivating, dear Adam. So, this is something we must explore together, then. It _is_ my job to make you the best that you can be, after all.”

From the spot where he's stayed put, Adam can feel himself perspiring lightly as a sudden understanding of what Nigel is suggesting is about to happen comes over him. He can feel a slight tingle on the back of his head as his pulse rate increases, his blood now moving more freely from his heart out to the furthest reaches of his body. His breath is coming to him faster too, but in shorter bursts. He just tries to stay motionless, looking again into Nigel’s eyes when he looks back up at him.

As Nigel begins to instruct, his voice takes on a lower tone and volume, the sound very slightly raspy from smoking. “Adam, first, I’m gonna ask you to lock the door. Then, I am going to have you kneel in the spot you are currently standing in. You will then hold your hands up at shoulder height, elbows bent and palms upward. You will not move or alter this position in any way until I explicitly tell you to do so.”

Nigel takes a final, deep inhalation of his cigarette, ember burning down to the filter, and then he puts it out in the ashtray. Continuing, he says, “At the time I see fit, I will dole out the punishment appropriate for your thoughtless behavior. A musician of your potential will not go any further without absolute presence of mind. You must be more aware of yourself and how you relate to the world around you. So, we will start small by correcting each slip-up as they occur, in hopes of reducing their frequency. Should things go beyond any of your personal limits you are to let me know by saying the word ‘Lydian’. Do you understand me?”

Adam closes his eyes, relishing Nigel’s every syllable as he answers in the affirmative, “Yes, Nigel.”

“And you have no objections?” says Nigel, hands brought up to the top of the desk to interlace in an almost hopeful gesture. His face is now stoic, but his hands betray his façade.

If Adam picks up on this, he gives no indication. He’s too focused on what’s to come.

“No, Nigel.”

Adam’s reply bolsters his confidence, and he slips into something dominant and flirtatious. “Then, time to lock the fucking door, gorgeous.”

The moment Nigel utters the fricative at the beginning of the word ‘fucking’, Adam’s cock twitches in his pants. He loves Nigel’s speech style – it is composed of the rough and the almost poetic. Also, the very thought of what he was about to do for Nigel, to atone for the disappointment he had caused, becomes so additionally arousing, he thinks he might faint. So instead, he chooses to clear his mind and simply focus on the minor tasks at hand.

Adam gets up, goes to the door and locks it, before returning to his spot and assuming the position Nigel has instructed him to be in. He does not want to move a single muscle. He wants to be such a good, good student for his teacher, and so he won't move at all until Nigel tells him to.

Nigel watches him for a few moments, face still affectedly stoic. Then he begins going through his planner and looking at files on his computer. He makes notes on some sheet music. Occasionally, he makes a phone call to someone to inquire about future appointments or gigs. He makes sure to ignore Adam completely as he busies himself at his desk. Little does Adam know to what extent Nigel's mind is actually occupied with him. Nearly nothing but.

He watches his ethereal supplicant posed in earnest determination from the peripheral of his eye as he pretends to focus on his ledger or at the computer screen. His hearing zeroes in on the irregularity of Adam's breathing as he works hard to maintain his position. Nigel begins thinking about what he's going to do to him, what gorgeous music his voice will keen high as Nigel plays his limbs like a snare drum, taut and responsive. Little does Adam know that Nigel is so fucking hard it hurts, that he can feel himself swell and curve against the fly of his pants, that he keeps his movements to a minimum so as not to produce any friction, lest he come embarrassingly in his pants right then and there. Little does Adam know how often Nigel has dreamed about this in his time spent alone, and how he never thought anything as wonderful as this could have ever come of it.

Meanwhile, Adam has been sitting there, doing his best to correct his position whenever his arms start to succumb to the pull of gravity and move downward. He keeps them square in line with his shoulders, palms up. His deltoids and biceps begin burning after about ten minutes, even though his arms are strong from his daily drumming. His mind alternates between envisioning images of what he wants Nigel to do to him and focusing his energy on ignoring the pain and keeping his body in line. Each moment intensifies his erotic anticipation and he's fully erect and dripping beautifully into the fabric of his lightly colored slacks, so much so a dark spot begins to form in the front. If Nigel were to look, Adam would not be able to hide this wanton evidence of his condition.

Fifteen minutes into his charade and Nigel thinks enough time has passed. He stands and slowly makes his way over to and around Adam, studying him from all angles. He sees the bulge in Adam's pants, and the dark spot where precum has leaked through. Behind him, he lets his real smile show, and he is already oh so pleased, even though Adam has not yet fully given his penitence. He shivers and tingles, trying desperately to keep himself from even considering how much he wants to just ditch this game, scoop Adam up, lecherously strip him of his garments, and fuck him senseless against the hard Cherry Wood of his office desk. He takes in a few breaths...

Then Nigel goes over to the high bookshelf behind his desk and finds an attractive wooden box the color of walnut. He begins speaking as he sets it down on the desk and opens it. “You know, once I had a very kind admirer who liked to gift me things. Nice things. She was an older lady. Always came to all my gigs before I got the position here at the conservatory. She'd buy me drinks after and tell me what a good job I did. I always accepted her gifts and had those drinks with her because it made her happy, and I could see that she was lonely. We never really got much closer than that...and then we stopped seeing each other for a while when I started here and became really busy. The last time I saw her though, she came to one of the first competitions we had with Studio Band. That evening, she gave me this,” with that, Nigel brings up a long, sumptuous conductor's wand from out of the box. It is made of thick ebony, and has a white ivory knob at the end to be handled. “Pretty isn't it? Just like Wagner's...I don't think she actually knew much about Jazz. Our ensembles are so small that my hand is enough to cue with. I'm not up there conducting the fucking philharmonic or anything. But, it was a beautiful gift nonetheless.”

Nigel brings the baton with him as he walks up to Adam. He stands very close, and Adam can see Nigel's arousal tenting in his black slacks. To keep from moaning out loud at the sight of it, Adam sets his eyes on the shine of Nigel's dress shoes instead, but Nigel calls back his attention. “Now, Adam, you will continue your pose, and I will strike you. You will account for every chart lost, and the folder that contained them. The pain will be etched into your memory, and you will learn this lesson well. Tell me, how many were in there?”

Adam swallows and the apple of his throat bobs up and down exaggeratedly. “Well, there were the two pieces we played for the competition, 'Irene' and 'Whiplash', and I suspect several of our other charts we rehearse regularly, like 'Cherokee' and 'After Hours'...so...I'll say, six.”

“Okay, six charts, each two pages. Plus, the folder...You will receive fourteen swats of this elegant wand.”

“Will that be seven on each hand?”

“Are we asking fucking questions now, darling?” Nigel's brow furrows deeply at Adam's presumptuousness. “No, you'd just love the fucking symmetry of that wouldn't you?” Adam looks down at the floor. “I will strike you as I see fit, and you will receive an extra swat for speaking out of turn. Should you pull your hand away or close them to avoid a blow, two will be added for each attempt. Are we clear?”

Adam’s voice wavers as his body shivers with anticipation. With lust.

“Yes, Nigel,” he says.

What he really wants to say though is much more emphatic and groveling. He wants to thank Nigel on bent knees and with folded hands, to lick his shoes, to kiss his hands. Anything to let him know just how thankful he is that without asking, Nigel had known exactly what Adam needed and wanted out of this. Adam thinks how much better, how much more compatible they could become given time and experience with one another. They haven’t even started and already Adam wants to do more and more, just with Nigel. Then, it begins.

  
[Moloko - Bring It Back (Remix)](http://picosong.com/xesD)

Nigel brings the baton down swiftly on Adam's right hand, stopping just before impact, and Adam flinches marginally, but doesn't move. Nigel does it again, twice, and the third time he hits Adam's palm with full force. The sting is almost unbearable, so Adam bites his bottom lip to hold in a hiss, and his stomach sinks at the thought of fourteen more. Nigel moves to the other hand, no teasing this time, and strikes his left palm five times in machine gun successions. Adam fights the urge to curl up his fingers, and endorphins begin leaking into his system, strengthening his resolve to hold still for his brutal conductor. Nigel brings the wand down again, onto his right hand, not _as_ hard as before, but still strong. This causes Adam to moan with abandon. Nigel savors Adam's pleasure song, his eyelids fluttering shut, and sticks the baton in his pocket for a moment. He begins stroking the bright red stripes on Adam's palms with his fingertips, even dragging the tips of his nails a bit. The gesture seems tender, but it actually just sensitizes the swollen flesh there even more, increasing the heat and the sting. “Breathe for me, Adam. Just seven more.”

Then he retrieves the wand from his pocket, and hits the right palm hard and fast another six times. Adam is gasping and moaning without stopping now. His eyes well up with tears, he can't remember the last time he'd felt pain like this, but it also feels oh so fucking good, the sting intermingled with the rush of natural pain killers and adrenaline, of his submission and the psychological satisfaction of pleasing Nigel and repenting for his mistakes.

Nigel strokes his cheek with the backs of his knuckles on his free hand, “Such a good student. Take one more for me, okay?” Adam hushes and nods slowly, acceptingly. Then Nigel reaches his arm high up above his head, and flicking his wrist just right, brings down a swift, ruthless strike onto Adam's left hand. That last one nearly does him in. His whole spine is tingling in erotic excitement. Adam's hands are on fire and tears are streaming down his face.

After placing the wand on the desk, Nigel squats down and looks Adam deep in his eyes, red and glistening from exquisite suffering, and his chest tightens at the beauty of it all. He brings an index finger up to catch a falling tear, sucks it off the tip, and savors the salty flavor of it on his tongue, not blinking, but making a show of it to Adam. “You've done so well, Adam.”

Then Nigel moves back, without turning around, to sit on the empty chair in front of his desk. He opens his arms wide and beckons Adam to him with his hands, “Come here, darling.” Adam does not think, only feels. Seeing the invitation, he wants to feel Nigel’s warmth and the pressure of his embrace.

Adam gets up and walks over to crumple himself onto Nigel's lap. Nigel holds him close and strokes the sweat-soaked curls back from his forehead, and down his back and thighs. They sit like this for a few minutes before Nigel breaks the silence. His voice is soft and quiet, “Let me get some ice for your hands. They will still be sore tomorrow, but we don't want them so tender that you can't play.” He picks Adam up, turns and sets him down on the chair again, head against one arm rest and lovely legs draped over the other, and then goes to the mini fridge behind his desk and in the corner. He brings back a zipper bag full of ice wrapped in a handkerchief and sets it in Adam's hands. “Just hold that for a while.” Then, he moves Adam so he can go back to sitting under him, cradling him like a child.

Adam looks up at Nigel, and they both look so, so happy and sated, and they both blush at the same time. Adam angles his chin upward, and his voice takes on an almost pleading tone, “Nigel, kiss me?”

At this, Nigel's hard veneer is utterly and completely vanquished, and he doesn't say another word, he just brings his mouth down onto Adam's. Sweetly but hungrily, they open their lips to one another, tongues slowly moving around in blissful discovery. Everything feels soft and warm and wonderfully slick. Nigel brings his hands up to cup Adam's jaw and he kisses him more and more, and Adam kisses back. Adam begins to weep from happiness and he is overcome with want and feeling wanted and the joy of reciprocated lust and affection and then he starts giggling into Nigel's mouth. They pull away for a moment, smiling at each other.

“Thank you so much, Nigel.”

“You're welcome, Adam,” Nigel says as he gently places a stray curl back into place.

Adam loves the tenderness – it shows in how he speaks. “I know things will be complicated now...but...I don't want or expect things to change when we rehearse and study. Please just treat me the same as any other guy in the band.”

Nigel shakes his head very subtly, “I wouldn't do that to you, Adam. Whatever this is, it's just for us. And letting it spill over into your playing won't do you any good. Can _you_ keep this and that separate?”

“I believe I can.”

“Good.” Nigel looks at him and sighs deeply, not wanting to distract from their physical intimacy any longer, “Now, back to where we were.” And they kiss again, and again, and again, continuing long into the night.


	8. Discord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I to understand that I have three drummers, and not one of them can play in fucking time? ...I will find my tempo out of one of you assholes if it takes me all fucking night.” - Nigel

_Discord – in music, a lack of harmony between notes sounding together._

Nearly half a semester has passed, and the routine of playing in Studio Band and joining competitions with them has become Adam’s life. He has since played consistently well at rehearsals each day, so much so that people have stopped questioning how such a young, first-year student could have become the core drummer for the school’s best jazz ensemble. Adam is very comfortable and confident in this role, complacent even. Unfortunately, things have also stopped progressing in his private dealings with the Studio Band conductor.

Since that first night Adam stayed with Nigel in intimate bliss, they have met in his office clandestinely, at first often, but now more and more seldom as Adam becomes less clumsy, and more aware of his actions1. He stops fucking up, and he starts running out of reasons to come to Nigel for correction. Adam occasionally contemplates messing up on purpose, but is keenly aware of not only the transparent dishonesty of such acts, but also the disappointment they would inspire in Nigel. He simply couldn't do it. And so, he is left without recourse.

Nigel on the other hand, a man of relative professionalism (see: rage-induced freak outs and violent intimidation towards his pupils), has never endeavored such a complicated relationship, let alone with a student. He remains in torturous ambivalence, simultaneously wanting to pursue deeper romantic and erotic attachments to Adam, while wanting to keep the dynamic of conductor and band member intact as their traditional roles dictate. He even rationalizes their sensual corporal punishment sessions as extra incentive for Adam to become a better performer in his own mind, conveniently leaving out having to explain to himself the sweet moments which come after, of embracing and deep kissing.

They both have hit a wall in their intimacy, each wanting to see the other as often as possible, but not knowing what the rules are for this dangerous game. So, they instead pine for one another and touch themselves in the dark and the silence of their mutual solitude when they each get home alone at night.

♪♬♭

  
[Justin Hurwitz - Accident (Whiplash OST)](http://picosong.com/xeFr)

Today, the band has just finished regular rehearsals, but will meet again late in the evening to learn a new piece for an upcoming competition the next day. Nigel became aware of a last-minute invitation extended to the band just this morning, and decided to add a new and impressive piece to their roster to guarantee victory this weekend. He wants this win very much, as it is the last competition they will have time to enter before the semester ends.

Now, the band members are beginning to pack up, but not yet leaving as they wait for further instruction from Nigel. He gets up and goes to his office, and comes back promptly with a thick stack of music charts in his hands. He places them into neat piles according to section on the table near the door and then turns to address everyone, “Alright. Pick up the new chart here by the door. Rehearsal tonight starts again at 9. You have ‘til then to learn it.”

Adam sits at his chair and strokes his drumsticks. He hates this part the most. He has already carefully tailored his weekly schedules to accommodate being in Studio Band, taking into consideration the days when competitions usually occur. He shifted his cleaning and personal activity days so that they still get done. It is much easier too, when he is notified of the excursions weeks in advance. Being able to plan travel routes, methods, and times, eases the anxiety that comes with having to travel to new and frighteningly unfamiliar places, but what is unfolding now, this...this is too much too fast.

One, there's a new piece to master by tonight. Two, there is an important competition coming up the next day for which he has not prepared, even in the least. Three, there is an extra rehearsal tonight that is nowhere near the usual time they meet. It keeps him from his nightly routine that helps him feel grounded and secure. Thinking about this all right now is just too much. And Nigel is about to make it all so much more worse.2

Adam gets up and grabs his copy of the new chart, it's called 'Caravan', and before he has time to look at the time signatures and notes, Nigel is addressing him, beckoning him with an outstretched hand. "Raki, stay a bit, won't you?” Adam goes over to Nigel at his music stand. Then they both look at the sheet together, “Look at it. You see the tempo?”

“Quarter note..330...”

Grinning, Nigel continues, “That’s a double-time swing. That’s what got you in here, isn’t it?” Adam wants to blush, but anxiety roils deep in his gut, preventing any good feelings from surfacing. “I guess so...”

Nigel's smile fades and his voice takes on a serious tone. “Now, just as was the case with you, I stumbled on a kid practicing his double time swing the other night. I’d like to give him a shot.”

Before Adam can register this startling information, let alone ask _'Who???'_ , a voice rings out from the doorway.

“Am I late?”

Nigel and Adam turn to the door to see Charlie Fucking Countryman standing there, a stupid grin painted on his face. Nigel puts an arm out in welcome, but his tone and face remain the same, “Perfect timing, Mr. Countryman. Join us.” Adam and Charlie make eye contact, recognition deep in their features. “You two know each other, don’t you?”

“Yep, we were both in Nassau Band. ‘Sup, Adam...” Charlie is all smiles. But Adam is mortified. Shaking, he can barely conceal his anxiety, and his anger.

“Now, Mr. Countryman, I’ve made Mr. Raki a temporary core, (Adam’s eyes shoot up at the word 'temporary', a tangible pain shooting through his chest) but we’ve got the competition this weekend and I want to make sure the new chart’s in good shape.”

Charlie nods, reaches into his backpack and, to Adam’s shock, pulls out the 'new chart', “This one, right?” Adam is wide-eyed. _When did he get the chart????_

As though reading his mind, Nigel answers, “I gave it to him this morning, Mr. Raki. Now, all I want to do is test out the part. Mr. Raki, if you wouldn’t mind, could we take it from the top with just you?” Adam tries to keep calm. He goes to the drums, and lays out the chart on the nearby music stand. Nigel comes up in front of the set, face still stone cold, “Don’t worry, I don’t care about hits. That’ll be tonight. For now, just tempo.” Adam nods meekly and takes in a deep breath.

Looking at the tempo notation, he tries to pump himself up mentally. _Okay... I’ve got this..._ Nigel claps him off and Adam begins. His double-time swing is painfully off beat. He is letting his mental state affect his playing. “No... That’s not quite my tempo.”

“I’m...I’m sorry...I’ll...”

“Let’s see if Countryman can do it, okay?” And Nigel motions for Charlie to switch places with Adam. Adam looks at Charlie. Heart pounding, he switches with him. Nigel claps and Charlie begins and he plays perfectly. “Countryman, that was excellent. See, this is the beauty of Studio Band. You come in an alternate, but a minute later, you could be the new core.” Then, Nigel looks straight at Adam, searching for his reaction. Adam doesn't move. Can't. It's taking all of his mental effort just to keep from screaming.

Adam starts breathing in and out, trying to calm himself, and then he looks back at Nigel, who hasn't taken his eyes off of him. Adam's voice breaks a little as he says, “You can't be serious?” Nigel's tough facade seems just about to break, like he's going to rush over to him and tell him it was all just a cruel joke and then the phone in his office begins to ring, immediately stealing away Nigel's attention.

He walks briskly towards his office to answer it, calling back to Charlie, “Countryman, the chart's yours. See you both tonight at 9.” He shuts his door and can be heard answering the phone inside.

Charlie tries to break the obvious tension, “How you been, bro?” Adam looks up at Charlie, hands gripping his drumsticks tight. “I think it was the injury that kept me out last time. But I’m fuckin’ stoked to be joining you guys now.” Adam just stares. Charlie seems earnest, but Adam is incensed. “Don’t worry about Nigel, either. My granddad knew his dad from the Philharmonic when Nigel was still trying to break in. He’s more bark than bite.”

Adam doesn't answer. Just stands and gets up to leave. Charlie is still trying to ameliorate the situation with a cheery good bye. “Alright, Adam, see ya at nine I guess!” Adam walks quickly down the hall and finds an empty practice room, locks the door, and screams.

♪♬♭

Adam is in the school cafeteria. He's waiting on the staff to give him a bucket of ice water. His body is stiff and his face expressionless, like a still life painting of lovely sadness personified and cast in shadow. He's just standing and waiting. A few minutes later the lady comes out with it, still obviously perplexed by the student's request.

She seems to have complied out of pure curiosity. “What do you need this for, hon?”

Adam answers with minimal intonation, typical of his usual speech, “I play the drums in Studio Band. It's the highest level Jazz ensemble here at the conservatory and we often go to competitions to represent the school. I play every day and I have blisters on my palms. I'm going to go practice a new piece right now until I get it right and I anticipate the blisters opening up and eventually bleeding from the continued irritation of my drumsticks. Cold water is excellent not only for constricting the blood vessels in the skin to minimize bleeding, and to reduce swelling, but also for the effective modulation of pain. I need it so I can continue practicing without my hands bothering me too much.” The woman just looks at him, not believing what he's saying. She goes to reply when Adam curtly nods in thanks and turns around and leaves.

Now, back in the practice room, Adam sits in the drummer's throne, the bucket of ice water placed on the floor to his right hand side. He looks at 'Caravan' on his music stand and begins marking it with pencil while murmuring to himself, “Forte...triplets...hemiola 1-3...don’t slow down!” He puts down his pencil and switches on the digital metronome set on a left-behind amp cabinet, now a makeshift table. He sets it at 400 and gets to work.

He's playing, giving it his all, sweating and cursing himself under his breath, “Get it together, Adam!” He keeps going and going, faster and faster, and then the blisters on his right hand start to rupture and bleed. He looks at it, then dips it into the bucket, for a moment just watching the blood swirl about and cloud the water, and a brief image of Nigel’s shark-toothed grin flashes in his mind’s eye. He pulls a handkerchief from out of his back pocket and wipes his hand off. He starts playing again. And again. And again.

Finally, his hands are too fucked up for the ice water to be effective, so he goes to his bag and pulls out some band aids. He applies them to the worst of the wounds and then suddenly he stands up and throws his sticks against the wall, “FUCK!!!!”

♪♬♭

Nine o'clock has rolled around and all the players are sitting, ready to go, in the band room. Adam looks dazed as he sits in the alternate's chair behind Luc, seemingly unaware of the rabble about him. Charlie is sitting in the drummer's throne, giddy with excited energy and bouncing his knees up and down. Luc looks smug as fuck.

Nigel comes in, his presence silencing the room. He hangs his jacket on the coat rack in the corner and comes up to his music stand, raising his hand to begin cueing, “'Caravan'. From bar one forty-two.” The players open their folders, pick up their instruments. Nigel waits. Then he claps them off. Just drums, bass and trombone play the trombone solo section of 'Caravan', fast, precise, but Nigel waves at Charlie to stop. “No, that’s not quite right, Countryman.”

Adam’s mind instantly fills with hope as he stims with his drumsticks. _Is this my chance?_ Then, “I want to try Raki on this.” _Yes!_

Charlie nods, slowly slides off as Adam quickly gets on. Adam clutches his sticks tight, bandages visibly covering a good chunk of his palm. They do not escape Nigel's notice. “Maybe now’s the time for Adam to earn the part permanently.” Adam winces to hear Nigel use his first name, something he does only when they're alone together, close and happy. He claps off, Adam starts, and, only one second later - “No, I guess not. Luc.” An anger is creeping into Nigel’s voice now.

Dismayed, Adam gets off, Luc gets on, Nigel claps him off, and then, motions for him to stop.

Nigel stands there for a moment, just rubbing his chin with his hand, and then he starts to laugh. Not a good sign. “Am I to understand that I have three drummers, and not one of them can play in fucking time?” Everyone is silent. “Unfuckingbelievable.” Then he motions at Luc to get off with a shake of his head, “Get your ass back on the kit, Countryman.” Charlie switches with Luc.

Nigel points aggressively in the general direction of his drummers. “I will find my tempo out of one of you assholes if it takes me all fucking night.” Next, he claps Charlie off, stops, “Which it just might. Raki.” Adam switches with Charlie. Nigel claps, Adam plays. Nigel stops him. “Not my tempo. Switch.” Adam switches with Luc. Nigel claps. Luc plays. Nigel stops him, “Not. My. Fucking. Tempo.”

He turns to the rest of the band, rubs his eyes, breathes, and then, trying to keep calm but his face already gnarled in anger, “Sorry about this, gentlemen, I hate to put you through it. But rest your arms, put aside your instruments, if you need to take a dump do it now, because I am going to go for as long as it takes until I find a drummer who can play in time.” Nigel turns back to the three men sitting around the drum set, “Do you hear me, fuckers? You’d better start shitting me perfect 400’s. Countryman. You first. Get on the kit.”

♪♬♭

It goes on like this for hours. The other players mull around outside in the hallway, sitting on the floor, reading books, looking at their phones, some sleeping. Then, a scream echoes out of the room, “Motherfucker!”

Adam is on the kit, drenched in sweat, whole body shaking. He has been playing for half an hour straight. He gets off the kit, struggling for breath, hands coated with torn blisters and blood. Luc gets on the kit, also sweating, also bleeding from his hands. The clock reads one-o-six. Then it's Charlie on the kit. Blood. Sweat. Drum skins stained a deep red. Nigel is at his wits end. The drummers are just zombies. This has to end. But Nigel won't let it until he gets his motherfucking tempo. Adam goes again. “Bring this shit home, Raki! Enough already!”

Suddenly, something inside him awakens and images flood his mind of the previous weeks: the complacency, the comfort, the lack of growth. He smiles at Nigel, earnestly, and just nods his head. Then he starts playing. Amidst the daze of exhaustion, Adam finds his second wind. He plays almost perfectly on tempo, though his hands burn and bleed. The muscles of his arms and shoulders and even his back and chest ache with overuse, but he doesn't stop. Nigel is still mad with rage, but his features soften with hope.

He paces in front of the determined drummer, still yelling, “Don't you slow down, Adam!” Adam’s arms are moving as fast as they possibly can, his feet like triggers. But he doesn't stop. “Fucking faster, faster Adam. It has to be faster!”

Nigel goes a nearby cabinet and brings out a cow bell and a stick. He comes right up next to Adam and kicks away the floor tom with a “Fuck you.” He begins hitting the bell in time, so Adam can keep up. “Faster Adam! Don't you dare fucking stop!” And Adam keeps going and going and his arms are on fire and they feel like they could give out at any moment, but, miraculously, they don't. And Nigel finally has his fucking tempo. He gestures for Adam to stop and Adam nearly falls off his chair. Luc and Charlie grab at his shoulders as if to congratulate him. Adam just sits there panting.

And then Nigel goes to the door and calls all the other players back in. Some of them wince as they come in and the overwhelming smell of sweat and blood hits their noses. “Alright, gentlemen. Now we can begin.”

* * *

1\. The first few times they met after their initial catalytic session, the punishments had been a result of some unforgivable mistakes for a core drummer to have made. One time, Adam forgot his drumsticks and had to borrow his alternate’s. Another time, he had failed to sight-read an important performance piece they were learning for a coming competition. And on yet another occasion, he had played on an out of tune set, after assuming Luc would tune the set for him. He had not checked before rehearsals had already begun. The day of the latter instance, Nigel had been particularly riled up, and after hearing the blasphemous off-key beating of Adam’s floor tom, he had wretched it up in the air with great fury and threw it into the piano (Fortunately, the pianist was a nimble fellow, and was unscathed in the aftermath. Also fortunately, the piano was a tough mother fucker, and suffered only minor scratches to the rear wood panel. The floor tom - not so much. A new one was brought to the practice room the following day).

Each time the punishment was dealt in a similar manner: in Nigel’s office, after rehearsals, Adam struck on his lovely hands, with the almost equally lovely ebony conductor’s wand. And each time Nigel would take great care in cradling him in his arms after, before they would make out until their lips were swollen and a deep shade of red, conjuring images of breathless young boys just back from gorging themselves on wild berries in the forest.↩

2\. Even though Nigel and Adam have spent more time in each other’s company than in anyone else's in the past few months, there is still much they do not know about the other: Nigel hides his emotional vulnerability from Adam as much as he can, giving glimpses into that part of himself in their moments of intimacy, but nothing else beyond that. Adam knows nothing of Nigel's life away from Shaffer, or of his personal history.

Nigel has sensed Adam's overall emotional sensitivity in social situations which others seem not to mind, and his seemingly insouciant regard of social conventions. He has noticed his fussy compulsion in complying with scheduled events and agreements, and his laser-sharp ability to pick up on details others never would. These are all things that just make Adam who he is to Nigel. But, Nigel is not aware that Adam is on the Autism Spectrum, and Adam has never felt the need to explain this part of his identity to him. If Nigel did know, though, he would know to be more considerate of putting Adam in situations wherein his anxiety would be unavoidable and unmanageable. Adam does not require special treatment, but he does require understanding.↩


	9. Nigel Puts Adam to Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Practice ended at three in the morning. Now all the band members are exiting the building, faces blank, bodies carrying them home like automata. Nigel exits with them. “5PM call today. Leave at least two hours ahead of time. Save your travel receipts…or don’t…I don’t give a fuck.” There is exhaustion in Nigel’s voice, but it’s something more emotional than physical. Nigel turns away and leaves, and Adam just watches him go.

The majority of the guys leave together in groups, bumming rides from each other, or taking taxis together. Adam goes alone. He usually takes the bus home, and so he automatically goes to the bus stop on the street corner, about a hundred yards away from where they all exited the building where they rehearse. He sits down on the bench with his bag, weary, hands still stinging from abuse. He is coming down from the feeling of accomplishment he had when he was able to step up to Nigel’s expectations. He is coming down from the rush of his breakthrough. And he feels like crashing... _especially_ now that he looks passively at the posted bus schedule and sees that the last bus for the area ran at two in the morning. _Fuck._

He pulls out his phone and finds a number for a local taxi company. He dials their number, but doesn’t hit send. This part is really hard for him. He can perform music in front of a packed building of spectators, but one on one interactions with unknown people are exponentially more terrifying.

He holds his thumb over the green button on the touch screen, mentally rehearsing his script for what he will say to the other person on the line. He thinks of having to tell the taxi driver where to take him and then he starts thinking about having to plan for his travel arrangements for later in the day and what he will wear and how he will get home and he starts breathing faster and sweating even though it’s chilly out and he thinks about the blood and the sweat and the pressure of the evening and of how close he was to being replaced and by Charlie Fucking Countryman of all people and he’s about to fucking hyperventilate when – Nigel pulls up in a black AMG GT.

He puts the car in park and turns off the ignition, but doesn’t come out immediately. He’s just sitting there with his hands gripping the steering wheel, as if mulling over whether or not he’s got the guts to get out and do what he wants to do. Adam just watches. Doesn’t know what to do. A moment later, Nigel swiftly gets out, closes the door calmly, rounds the back end, and steps up to where Adam is sitting.

He puts his hands in his pockets, shoulders raised. He does not look at him as he addresses his battered drummer. He looks down at the concrete of the sidewalk. “Hi, Adam.”

Adam is perplexed. “Hello, Nigel. What are you…”

Nigel then looks up through the curtain of bangs that had fallen in front of his eyes from looking down. “Can I give you a lift home?”

Adam is so relieved to be asked this by Nigel. “Yes!” Not only does he now not have to call a cab, but he also gets to be temporarily distracted from all his worries, and by the one person in the world he wants to hold his attention. “I was going to call a cab. I hate doing that, Nigel. Thank you, really!”

Nigel suddenly smiles brightly, as if he were expecting to have his offer declined. He goes over to the passenger door and opens it for Adam, bending his arms to the side to welcome Adam in. “Get in, gorgeous.” Adam literally skips to the car and gets into the two-seater, then straps himself in carefully, minding his opened blisters, and keeps his bag in his lap. Nigel gets in and then pushes the ignition button and takes off. A while later, the car is stopped at a red light two intersections away from the school.

Nigel finally takes the chance to broach the subject of the evening’s events, hands gripping the steering wheel once more. “Adam…are you okay?”

Adam is just looking out the windshield ahead. “In what sense, Nigel?”

Then, Nigel turns to look apologetically at Adam’s profile. “To say that I pushed you hard today would be a vast understatement, Adam. Are you okay, after what I put you through?”

Adam starts fidgeting with his hands and biting his lip. How does he feel? Everything is still so fresh and there are so many emotions rattling around in his head, he can’t put a finger on anything. “I don’t know how to answer that, Nigel. But, basically, I am not okay.” At this, a twinge of guilt reads across Nigel’s face. Adam continues, “But, if I’m not okay, it is not simply because of what you did to me today. Candidly speaking, I’m a little glad you pushed me into seeing that I had become complacent with my playing. But, I do think you could have found a more reasonable way to motivate me to change.”

Nigel lets out an audible sigh of relief, “Adam, I’m so glad you feel that way....and that you're not angry with me.” For a moment Nigel looks out of his driver side window, not at anything in particular, but he just looks out. He speaks more softly as he reminisces, “Growing up in a musician family, I spent a lot of time with hard-ass teachers. It's the way I learned music and it's the only way I know how to teach...” Then he turns to Adam, and makes direct eye contact, his wounded animal eyes glistening with excessive moisture. “You are...important to me Adam...and....I just want you to realize your potential. I see so much in you. You can be a truly great musician. I have experience in this; I can see the ones who have what it takes to make it.” The light changes and Nigel starts moving again.

After a few moments of quiet, Adam quips, “Thank you Nigel. Just maybe less blood next time?”

Nigel wants to answer playfully, but he can’t feel anything but tainted with the overwhelming feeling of remorse at having caused physical injury to Adam, who holds a tender spot in his mind. He tries his best anyway, tone slightly tinged with regret, “Yes, Mr. Raki. Now how do I get to your place?”

♪♬♭

Nigel and Adam pull up near Adam’s Manhattan apartment building, off to the side where it is safe to park. Nigel kills the ignition and they both sit there, quiet. Adam just kind of watches Nigel for some clue as to what he should say. Then Nigel speaks, “So, I guess you’ll be going upstairs now. You must be exhausted after the fucked up day you had. I know. I made sure of it.” Adam listens to the tone of Nigel’s voice, it seems a lot meeker than usual, unsure. So, Adam gets brave.

“Nigel, can I speak openly?”

“Please, do.”

“I don’t want to be alone right now. I want you to stay with me… I would like for you to come upstairs.” Nigel is struck speechless at Adam's words and he just looks at Adam, dumbfounded. _Is this a rejection?_ Adam starts getting nervous about the tenuousness of this situation; it magnifies his existing anxiety.

Nigel’s bangs are obstructing his eyes, though it’s not as if Adam could parse out his expression anyway. Then, almost shakily, “Are you sure about this, Adam?”

Adam brightens up a little inside, anxiety tamped down again, for the moment.. He is not being rejected. “Yes, please stay with me tonight. We don't have to do anything. Just...come upstairs.”

Nigel nods and they both get out of the car.

♪♬♭

Once inside the apartment, Adam leads Nigel inside, turning on only the lights needed to navigate their way to his bedroom. Adam drops his bag near the door and removes his jacket, hanging it in the closet. Nigel stands in the doorway, hands at his side and body loose, waiting for Adam to tell him what he wants him to do.

Standing by the bed now, Adam looks back at Nigel and offers, “It's very late, Nigel, but do you want some tea or water?”

“No, thank you, Adam.”

“Please come here and have a seat on the bed.” Adam gestures to the spot on the right-hand side, near the foot of the bed. Nigel complies and sits down. Adam walks to the closet and as he starts taking off his day clothes, Nigel looks away, trying to give Adam his privacy. Or maybe he is trying to adjust to this tiny new step in the direction of deeper intimacy. Or both. He's not sure, but he feels he must look away. Then, Adam puts on his pajamas, a blue and white striped set like you might see a dapper old gentlemen wear to bed, and makes his way to go to the bathroom. Nigel tries to keep from grinning like an idiot at how adorable Adam is, as if it were any more possible than in his usual appearance.

Adam looks back at Nigel before moving to disappear into the hallway, cherubic curls hanging onto his forehead after being displaced by his earlier disrobing. He suddenly looks so innocent. Nigel can feel a certain kind of warmth pooling in his groin and he’s very glad to be sitting down, just in case his rebellious body continues to respond. Then Adam pauses before totally exiting and says, “I'm going to brush my teeth now, Nigel. Do you need to as well?”

“Do you have a spare? I didn't bring one.”

“No. I will be back, then. Please wait.” And then Adam disappears from the door frame.

After a few minutes, Adam comes back to find Nigel, still unmoved from his position, sitting in intense concentration, for what reason, Adam can’t make out (monk-like dedication to not getting a boner.) So, he just sits next to Nigel. Looking down, he notices that Nigel has not yet removed any clothing or even his shoes, so he asks, “Are you going to sleep in your shoes?” Nigel chuckles and takes them off.

Then, looking down at the carpet, he begins to speak. “Adam you said earlier that you weren't okay, and that it wasn't only because of what I did to you. What else is bothering you?”

Adam sighs, and dregs the anxiety ridden thoughts from out of his head. “It's because of the surprise competition. I didn't tell you this before, because I didn't want you to start looking at me the way people look at me when they know, but I'm on the Autism Spectrum, and that means that a lot of things are different for me. I don't like not being able to plan ahead for what I'm going to do. I need to know as much as I can about a situation – where I'm going, how I'm going to get there, what other things I can do should something go wrong, especially when it's a situation and place that is new to me. I need time to plan and to get used to the idea. Not knowing gives me extreme anxiety. Now that you bring it up, I am getting really worried about it again. But yeah, I was worried about those things and then I had to worry about whether or not I was going to continue being the core drummer and about displeasing you and it's just...it's all very overwhelming, Nigel.....will you just...please....I want you to help me feel less worried about everything.”

And now Adam is looking beseechingly into Nigel’s eyes, his hands moving on their own to grasp at the material of Nigel’s jacket sleeve. “When we have those...those nights when you give me instructions and correct me and we touch and kiss after, everything gets nice and quiet and I don't worry. I feel safe letting you do those things for me and to me.”

A softness overtakes Nigel’s features, open and warm and honest. Adam's words touch down to the softest, deepest spots inside of him, and he is so honored to have this much trust and affection placed in him. Adam's earnest regard plants a magic seedling, as though born from the sun, in the dark soil of his loneliness. It warms and lights up the inside of him as he lets it take root, because it has been many years since anyone has regarded him with anything but fear and begrudging respect. For this, he wants to return Adam's favor a thousand fold. He puts his hands on top of Adam’s, still clinging to his jacket sleeve, and gives them a reassuring pat. “I would love to help you now, darling.”

Adam closes his eyes, feeling overwhelming gratitude. “Thank you, Nigel.”

Then suddenly, it seems as though Nigel has gotten a bright idea. Adam then looks at him as he speaks. “Can I leave you for a moment? I have some things down in my car I want to bring and show you. If you are amenable, maybe we can use them to help you, and have some fun while we're at it.” Nigel’s right eyebrow charmingly pops up at the mention of having ‘fun’, putting Adam a little more at ease.

“What are they?” Adam asks, genuinely curious.

Nigel seriously considers telling Adam, but thinks better of it when he envisions the objects in his head. He doesn't want to scare Adam away from something that could actually really help take him out of the jaws of anxiety, however briefly. “It will be easier to explain with them in front of us.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Three minutes, perhaps. I’m just going to retrieve a bag from my car trunk and then come back up here. Can I leave the door unlocked when I go?”

Adam looks at Nigel with trusting eyes. “Okay.” Nigel does not miss out on the fact that Adam has been making increasingly more eye contact with him this evening. He acknowledges to himself that this has to be done right to avoid undoing any progress in intimacy they've been able to make this night.

To set the mood, Nigel slips into his authoritative tone, knowing full well the effect it will have on Adam. Nigel takes his fingers and rests them under Adam's chin as he looks straight into Adam's eyes and says, “While I'm gone, you are to make the room very comfortable for yourself. Get ready to sleep as you normally would, and wait for me on the bed, lying down, but not under the covers just yet, we'll need space to move around.”

Adam’s pupils suddenly blow wide with arousal. His body programmed so beautifully to respond to that tone of voice from his brutal conductor. He begins envisioning himself moving and following Nigel’s directions, and he gets even more excited. “Yes, Nigel,” he dutifully responds.

Then Nigel is smiling warmly. “I'll be back so fast, darling, I promise.” Adam smiles at this as Nigel gets up, puts his shoes back on, and leaves to go downstairs.

♪♬♭

Nigel comes back with a small black briefcase to find Adam on the bed. All the lights are off except for the planetarium lights, casting moving images of stars and galaxies across all the surfaces of the room. It's magical, and the vision of this comely boy on the bed, stars dancing across his skin, takes Nigel's breath away. He comes to sit down, in his earlier spot, removing his shoes again and then his jacket, which he folds and places over the foot of the bed. Adam reaches out for his hand and smiles. Nigel takes his hand and caresses the top of it with his thumb, just looking at him, and momentarily forgets why he had left the apartment in the first place, “You're so fucking beautiful, Adam.”

Adam tucks his chin into his neck bashfully, “Thank you...You know this is kind of déjà vu for me.”

Nigel turns playful again, “Oh, yeah?”

“The first night we met, I came home and masturbated, imagining you here, telling me what to do. I was here in my sleeping clothes with the planetarium lights on just like this. You were even sitting in the same spot, in the same clothes.”

Nigel's playfulness dissipates into sudden, adorable confusion. “Adam....I don't know if you're doing that on purpose or not.”

Adam’s eyebrows pop up. “Doing what?”

“Driving me absolutely fucking insane with want, saying exactly the things that disarm me completely.” Nigel's eyes take on that certain look that Adam associates with a wounded animal, and Adam is reminded again that Nigel is the most beautiful person that he has ever seen.

“What did you bring from the car, Nigel?”

Nigel opens the black briefcase and removes three objects. The first is a simple, black, silicone ball gag. The second, a set of black nylon and Velcro straps, lined with neoprene, designed to bind the wrists to the wearer's thighs. The third, a black blindfold. He lays them out on the bed. Adam sits up and crawls closely to Nigel holding the objects. Sitting up on his knees, bum resting nicely on top of the heels of his feet, Adam starts looking at them, an inquisitive look on his face. “I can guess what these are made for. I've seen photos on the internet.” Then he looks at Nigel, concerned, “But, why do you keep them in your car?”

Nigel can understand how this must look, so he chuckles to himself, something low and burly. “I bought them last week. I've been wanting to try something new in our special sessions together. I just...keep it in the car for when the occasion finally comes up.” Adam nods in understanding. “You need to relax and feel safe, Adam, especially now; let's see if these can help put you in a quiet place.” Adam smiles and moves even closer to Nigel.

Nigel smiles back and speaks softly, pointing to each object as he informs Adam of his intentions. “I'm going to put the blindfold on your face first. When I do, please tell me if it is too tight or not. Then I will place these straps on your wrists and attach them to your thighs. They have Velcro enclosures, so I can take them off quickly if you want or need me to. They will limit your movements, but not inhibit them entirely. Finally, I will put in the ball gag. You will be able to make sounds through it, but not speak, so I'm gonna give you this bell.” He hands it to Adam to see; it is silver and round, like the bell of a cat collar. “Shake it if you need to stop or get my attention. Got it?”

“I understand.”

“Now, come closer.”

Adam does as he's told and leans his face toward Nigel's hands, and Nigel places the blindfold on his face. Then, he has Adam get up from the bed and stand on the floor in front of him as he places the straps on his arms and legs, over his pajamas, slipping his fingers in between them and Adam's body after to make sure they are neither too loose nor too tight. Lastly, he starts to place the ball gag on Adam's face when Adam stops him, “Won't that make me drool everywhere?”

Nigel's voice becomes frisky, “Oh, darling, you most certainly will. That's part of the fun.”

Adam makes a face. “Can you put a towel under me? I don't want to sleep on wet sheets later on.”

“As you wish. Where is the bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left.”

“Ok, I’ll be right back.” Nigel goes to the bathroom down the hall then and returns with a small towel in his hand. He places it on the edge of the bed, then returns to his previous position. Adam listens to the rustling of fabric on fabric as Nigel moves, already beginning to feel calmer and moved to a more peaceful place by the decrease in stimulation.

Nigel finishes by placing the gag in Adam's mouth. Then he asks Adam to try to push it out with his tongue really hard. After a few attempts and readjustments, Adam succeeds and they are ready to go.

Nigel picks Adam up in his arms and lays him on his left side on the bed, taking great care to make sure his lower wrist is not caught between his body and the mattress. He has Adam squeeze his hand into a fist, and then grab onto Nigel's index finger. Adam's nerves and circulation are intact.

“If at any time your arms or legs become uncomfortable or worse, numb, shake the bell. Same thing goes with the blindfold and ball gag.” Adam nods and feels Nigel place the bell in his hand. Now, blinded, bound, and gagged, Adam feels Nigel's weight shift off the bed, and then he hears him come over to the other side and get on the bed again.

Nigel lays next to Adam to face him, places the towel he brought earlier under them, and puts his right arm under Adam's head, to support it and to cuddle him closely. Then, he begins stroking Adam's hair back from his face with his other hand, “Don't think about anything, Adam. We will talk about the day's agenda before it’s time to leave. I will help you take care of everything. For now, don't think; just feel me and our bodies together.”

[Smoke City - Underwater Love](http://picosong.com/xeu8/)

Nigel starts by taking his time touching Adam all over, running his hands along his back and over his arms and legs, as though calming a frightened animal. He then takes Adam's face into his left hand and begins kissing Adam's mouth around the gag. Sucking at his parted lips and licking away any stray saliva, he can taste Adam on his tongue.

With Adam's eyes now forcibly closed, the slick, smooth surfaces of Nigel's lips feel even more amazing than he remembers. He can hear the subtle sounds of wet flesh caressing his own. It intensifies the sensation of being kissed. The desire to kiss back freely overwhelms him, and when he cannot, he begins being driven to madness with unfulfilled want. _What excruciating pleasure! What beautiful torment!_ Adam is loving every microsecond of this.

Now, Nigel also kisses him all over his face, starting with his forehead, over the blindfold, on the tip of his pretty nose, his cheeks, and more again on his mouth. Adam becomes more still. He focuses on the sensations and sounds. He just feels what Nigel is doing to him, the tender touches, his soft lips. Everything else is dark and quiet. Being held in Nigel's arms, he feels like a baby, swaddled up and warm, and safe and wanted and cherished and taken care of.

A little bit later, Adam starts shifting his arms around to test his bindings. He can shift his limbs around a bit, but not enough to do anything properly. He thinks about how he is at Nigel's mercy, so vulnerable this way. He has given up his mobility and entrusted it to Nigel. This kindles the sparks of new arousal within him. Feeling Nigel's hands and mouth on him, it feels so good, and he wants to feel even more. He has to let Nigel know. So, Adam shakes the little bell in his hand.

Nigel quickly responds by first taking the ball gag off and then the blindfold. “What's wrong, darling?”

Adam opens his eyes and can make out Nigel's worried expression in the dim dancing light of his room. If he weren't so fucking aroused, he might laugh at the misunderstanding. Breathy, needy, Adam pleads, “Nigel, please touch me.”

Nigel appraises Adam's features, his half-lidded eyes, his darkened, swollen lips, glistening and parted. “Oh fuck...Adam...” Not looking away, Nigel moves his right hand downward to feel him hard and leaking in his precious pajama pants and Nigel nearly loses his fucking mind. And now, it's Nigel's turn to get hard. He does not unbind him – the fun is not over yet.

“Yes, darling. Anything you need. Now, lick.” Nigel holds his left hand out for Adam to wet, and unable to resist feeling the soft dampness of his mouth, sticks in two fingers, running them over Adam's tongue. Adam loves the fullness of having his mouth penetrated and the feel of Nigel's digits on his tongue. He licks around them and tastes the saltiness of Nigel's skin, moaning softly. Nigel responds by moving them slowly in and out, appreciating the wet sounds this motion produces. He moves his fingers around more and more then, exploring the small space between his teeth and his cheeks, the space under his tongue, and then he plunges them in deep to the back of Adam’s throat to revel in the sound and sensation of Adam gagging on them slightly. Adam swallows and looks at Nigel with lust-clouded eyes.

Not breaking eye contact, Nigel then takes out his hand and quickly grasps Adam firmly in the band of his pants. He can only tug slightly, so he pulls Adam's pants down below his hips, revealing the delicious curve of Adam's bottom and the springing jut of his cock. He watches as Adam’s eye flutter shut in anticipated pleasure.

Now free to stroke and tease as he pleases, he begins kissing Adam again while stroking him in languid pulls, up and down, savoring every sensation of Adam's soft skin and under it the engorged tissue and bulging veins. “You feel so fucking good,” Nigel moans himself now, before he continues and starts taunting Adam. His intonation rises in playful questioning, as he gasps his words out. “So hard for me now, hmm? You like being bound by me? I can do whatever I want to you, like this.”

Adam almost whines in response, “Oh, Nigel...I...I...please do whatever you want. I want you to...”

Nigel's hand feels deliciously different than his own, his palm wider, skin rougher, grip tighter. Adam kisses Nigel again enthusiastically, and as Nigel strokes him more and more, he whimpers into Nigel's mouth, again and again, until they are full-on, lewd, loud moans. Both of them pant between kisses, trying to catch their breath, but it's not long before they are devouring each other's mouths again. Then, Adam feels like he can't take much more; the gorgeous friction of Nigel's movement has crescendoed in stimulation. He breaks the kiss and looks right at Nigel. “Nigel...I'm so close. May I come, please?”

Hearing this, Nigel feels like he just might come himself. Adam just knowing to ask and how. And saying it so beautifully. How could Nigel even consider to deny him? “Yes, Adam, come right into my hand.” He continues stroking him with the left, while preparing his right hand to receive Adam's release. Nigel increases his pace until Adam begins trembling, and with subtle spasms, Adam empties his seed onto Nigel's waiting palm.

Relishing another chance for mischievous dominance, Nigel brings his hand up and into Adam's mouth, for him to lick clean every finger and every millimeter of his palm. Adam takes this light-hearted humiliation happily, extending his tongue and eagerly licking away and consuming the evidence of his immense pleasure this night, until Nigel's hand is spick and span. When Adam has finished, Nigel kisses him deep, partaking of the true flavor of Adam in his mouth. He loves this added dimension of the proof of Adam's enjoyment.

Adam is already getting drowsy from coming after a long, intense day, but is worried about making Nigel feel good, too. “Thank you, Nigel. But you didn't finish. Can I touch you, too, please?”

Nigel just slightly shakes his head and smiles toothily. “Oh, believe me, I want you to darling, but, tonight is about you. We can both have fun next time.” He is more than satisfied with the way everything has worked out tonight, so beyond his expectations.

With this he strokes Adam's head a bit and gives him a few sweet kisses on his cheek. “Lay on your back; I will remove the straps.” Adam accepts Nigel's answer and doesn't fight it, now very ready to go to sleep. So, Adam rolls onto his back and allows Nigel to remove everything. He removes first the right side, then the left, the sound of Velcro separating from itself filling the space. Then, Nigel puts the straps and blindfold into his briefcase, before leaving the room to take the ball gag into the bathroom to rinse in the sink and leave on its edge to dry.

Meanwhile, Adam gets cozy under the covers, scuttling toward the right edge to make enough room for Nigel. Nigel comes back, then turns off all the lights, including the planetarium, and joins Adam back in his bed. “Goodnight, darling,” Nigel says, yawning. Adam answers back in reply and then breathes Nigel's scent in, their bodies so close, and drifts off to sleep, Nigel following soon after.


	10. Modulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists experience a breakthrough in their intimacy (feat. some poncy water metaphors).

_Modulation: The establishment of a new key. This is mainly a matter of harmonic progression, but expectation, emphasis and phrasing also enter into determining whether a new key has really been established._

 

Water molecules are highly attracted to each other, resulting in a high surface tension. Molecules at the surface do not have other like molecules on all sides of them and consequently they cohere more strongly to those touching them directly on the surface. This forms a surface "film" which makes it more difficult to move an object through the surface than to move it when it is completely submersed.

The shadow of the tears of wine cast on a table from a single glass of Merlot on a night in alone. The graceful stride of an insect allowed to move freely across the top of a pond without having to fall into the unknown depths below. The beading of rain drops on a forest leaf. These are all thanks to this phenomenon. The surface tension of water is 72.8 millinewtons per meter at 20°C, making it much higher than that of other liquids, and blood, an average of 55.9 millinewtons per meter at 20°C, is no exception.

Nigel was no stranger to blood, having escaped with his family as a young teenager a life of hunger and violence under the iron curtain of Nicolae Ceausescu’s neo-Stalinist police state of the late sixties to all throughout the eighties. His father had demanded it of him, as he grew, wringing it freely from his growing form through extreme practice, not to be stopped until perfection of sound was achieved. His memories are littered with the images of white piano keys smeared red.

Nigel, in turn, learned to think nothing of it when he drew blood from his students as a teacher years later. Blood was easy. It made sense to Nigel. In his mind, one simply had to accept moving in and out of it, dredging through its metallic scent and flavor and crimson pain, all throughout one’s life. In Nigel’s life there was always blood to be had, especially between people, be they lovers or family or enemies or mentors or students. There was always blood.

Then came along Adam. Pure as a mountain stream, Adam’s affection and submission was just as free-flowing, transparent, and revitalizing. He had never encountered a person such as Adam. He was someone who had the great potential to be the perfect combination of lover and family and enemy and mentor and student. Someone also stable and open like a pool of fresh water.

In the months since Nigel met Adam, he had been floating along the surface of their intimacy, afraid to breach it. Afraid to breach Adam and the feelings he carried inside for him. He was not used to the difference in surface tension between still water and blood. But last night, that all changed. Adam had given blood – it had been easy to embrace that part for Nigel. But he was genuinely surprised at how the latter half of the night was even easier, once he let go and just took the plunge.

Waking in the soft morning light of Adam’s bedroom, Nigel feels like he’s drifting now along with the slow currents of the sea in high tide. He feels the lovely weightlessness of their new level of intimacy enveloping him, and he knows that he has breached the surface down to the true nature of their relationship. They are lovers and family and enemies and mentors and students all. There is no longer an ambivalent need to keep these identities as one and separate. They are attracted and bound to each other like the molecules of water.

Adam begins to stir not long after Nigel, and opens his eyes to find Nigel looking lovingly at him, messy bangs in his eyes, expression soft, chest slowly rising and falling. Nigel's lips part on a sigh before giving him a tender kiss on the mouth. “Good morning, Adam.”

“Good morning, Nigel.” Adam beams at him, wrapping his lovely arms around Nigel's hardy midsection and squeezing. Adam can feel it too, now. He feels something new between them, a tension passed through. “Will you stay for breakfast?”

“What's for breakfast?”

“I have milk and cereal for breakfast. There's an extra bowl. We could have some together.”

“That sounds good. But, I usually have a nice hot cigarette for breakfast. Perhaps we can compromise? I will go and have a smoke, and then join you at the kitchen table for milk and cereal.” Nigel sits up in bed, still dressed in his black t-shirt and slacks from the evening before, and then goes to his jacket crumpled on the bedroom floor to feel around for his pack and lighter on the inside left pocket. It must have fallen down from all their moving around in their sleep. “But first, time for a fucking piss.” Nigel puts his smoking things in his pants pocket and then walks out of Adam's room to go to the bathroom.

“You can smoke on the balcony, Nigel!” Adam hollers down the hall at him.

♪♬♭

Right as the two finish their bowls of cereal, the phone rings with Harlan's weekly call to Adam. Adam gets up to answer it, still in his cute blue and white striped pajamas, walking from the small dining room into the kitchen. He picks up the cordless phone from its charging station on the counter next to the sink, “Hello...oh, hi Harlan!...just a moment...” Adam moves the phone a little bit away from his face and addresses Nigel, “I have to talk to Harlan for a while.”

Nigel gets up from the table and asks Adam, “Do you mind if I look around your apartment while you take that call, then?”

“That's fine, Nigel. Thank you for waiting.” Then Adam starts talking on the phone again, “Harlan? Oh, that's my teacher, Nigel. We just finished having cereal...”

Nigel leaves the kitchen and stops listening to what Adam is saying into the phone. He goes into the living room. The walls are plastered with a light green wallpaper, and all the wooden trim and moldings along the ceilings and floor are painted white. Along the wall adjacent to the cased opening from the kitchen, there is a white door, and after it, a large wooden book case that extends to a foot or so beneath the ceiling. Nigel jiggles the door knob, and, finding it locked, moves on to look at the book case.

Each row of shelves has books on it in a variety of sizes, thickness, and color. Further inspection reveals to Nigel that they have been arranged according to subject, alphabetically. The top shelf is all astronomy books: some books on the discovery of the solar system and famous astronomers from the past. The intermediate shelves are lined with a variety of music history books, topics ranging in everything from Australian Aboriginal music, to the music of the Renaissance, to the origins of the Blues and Jazz, to the biographies of Jazz legends like Art Tatum, Miles Davis, and Buddy Rich. Nigel takes his time in stroking the spines of the Jazz books, occasionally pulling one out to skim over the pages and read short passages. He relishes the evidence of Adam's self-study into the history of his craft. The bottom shelves are all textbooks typical of a first year student at Shaffer, all composition and music theory and analysis. He doesn't pay them much mind.

Nigel then goes to the window behind the ochre and brown sofa. He pulls the curtains aside and admires the view of the street from Adam's apartment. Then he hears Adam hang up the phone in the kitchen before seeing him come into the room. Adam comes up to him to lean against his chest. Nigel wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on the top of his head. “Harlan thought it was very strange for us to be having breakfast together. So, I explained to him that it's because I didn't want to be alone and so we slept together last night.”

Nigel laughs something completely devoid of amusement, but filled with total disbelief. He then reiterates Adam's final words. “You told Harlan that we slept together last night....”

“Yep.”

“You told Harlan that you, a first year student at Shaffer Music Conservatory, and I, a distinguished instructor at Shaffer Music Conservatory, slept together last night and proceeded to have breakfast together.”

Adam closes his eyes and sniffs Nigel's shirt as he leans further into him. “Mmhmm.”

Nigel brings a hand up to rub his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed together and eyes shut. “And who is Harlan, may I ask?”

“Harlan is a family friend. He was in the army with my father. He calls every Saturday morning to see how I'm doing and sometimes we meet to have lunch in Central Park on certain Sundays. He's the only person I really talk with...besides you that is.”

“Where is your father now, Adam?”

“He died last year.”

“Oh...my condolences, Adam...is that whose room it is behind the locked door?”

“Yep.”

“How about your mother?”

“She left when I was a toddler.”

Nigel feels a pang of sympathy for Adam, all alone in the world but for an old Army buddy of his father's calling every week to check in on him. He suddenly feels like he never wants Adam to be alone again; he wants him to be with someone he can spend time with as often as possible. “And so did Harlan accept your explanation of us sleeping together because you didn't want to be alone?”

“Oh, no. He said it was very inappropriate and that I should be more careful and that you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Nigel pulls away from Adam to look him in the eye, “Is this something I should worry about, Adam?”

Adam looks up at him, “No, Nigel. It would be a lot of trouble for me, too, should others find out about this. He said that, too. He discouraged me from getting any closer to you, but conceded to the fact that I am an adult now and can make my own choices.”

Nigel holds Adam by his waist while maintaining a bit of distance between their bodies so they can look at each other and speak. “And what choice will you make, Adam?”

“I will choose to spend time with you in any way that I see fit. If...that's okay with you?”

“Yes, Adam. It most certainly fucking is.” Nigel radiates at Adam as he says this, before leaning down to kiss him, open-mouthed but gentle.

Breaking the kiss, suddenly Adam has a happy thought, and he nearly bounces up and down as he asks, “Would you like to see my orreries, Nigel? I also have some really great vintage cymbals!”

Nigel loves the sudden shift in Adam's mood. He finds Adam's honest enthusiasm and his eagerness to share something he loves with him absolutely endearing. “Lead the way, darling.” And now Adam is grabbing at his arm and starting to lead him to another room down the hall.

Abruptly, a thought comes to Adam's mind as he catches a glimpse of the clock on the wall and frowns. “I'm sorry, Nigel. Can you wait a while? I always take a shower and change into my clothes before I go in to take care of my hobby room. My showers last around five minutes.”

Then as he is about to respond, Nigel gets a devious fucking idea. He is in a playful mood after all the goodness of the day. His features take on a false sternness, and he adds a hint of authority to his tone, “I will wait to see your orreries and cymbals, but you must give me something in return.”

Adam is usually not so good at picking up these minute shifts with others, but he has had practice in seeing this side of Nigel on a daily (sometimes nightly) basis. There's no reason for it to have come up now, other than for play. Adam is quite pleased with himself all around, having picked up on something usually difficult, and also at the prospect of getting to play more with Nigel. “What must I give?”

“A performance of 'Caravan'. You will take your shower and dress as usual, with one exception: you will not wear a shirt. Then you will proceed as normal and care for your hobby room and show me your orreries and cymbals. I assume you have a set here which you practice on?”

“Yes, Nigel, I do.”

“Good. Let's make sure that chart is in top condition. I will be out on your balcony, having cigarettes until then.”

Adam becomes slightly giddy as he flits off to the bathroom.

♪♬♭

After Adam's shower, he goes to his room and dresses according to Nigel's instructions. He picks out a pair of light trousers and a complimentary dark brown belt, along with chocolate dress socks. He begins to grab for a dress shirt and then a huge grin paints his face when he remembers why he must not wear it yet. Just the idea of following Nigel's directions is already starting to get to him and he can feel a tingling sensation traveling down his spine, welling in his pelvic floor and spreading out more and more as erotic imaginings run through his mind. He hopes for praise and punishment alike, delivered in Nigel’s characteristic, confident swagger. His alpha authoritarianism excites him like nothing else.

Adam stops in the bathroom again before going to see Nigel. Looking into the mirror above the sink, he combs his hair, but some stray curls rebel to drape over his forehead. He ends up liking the effect and so chooses to leave them be. He steps back from the sink, appraising his appearance in the reflection: freshly washed brown hair neatly combed but slightly unruly, face still a bit flushed from the heat of his shower, his naked chest smooth and hairless, the nipples on them dark and pert from being exposed to the chill of the air. His skin is soft and smells of soap. Then he looks down at his hands. They are red and the opened blisters on them are shiny and pink from not being yet fully healed. He rubs at each hand in turn with opposite thumbs, and thinks of last night's brutal awakening at the conservatory. He thinks of Nigel yelling at him to go faster and faster and not to stop. He thinks of finally keeping up and the look of utter satisfaction on Nigel's face when he finally cued him to stop playing. Feelings of panic and anxiety and relief and accomplishment and torture and pain and satisfaction and joy all intermingle into a potent mix and suddenly Adam becomes intensely aroused.

He shoves his hand in his pants to tug at his growing erection, the friction of the open wounds on his hand against his soft cock both supremely painful and delicious. He bites his lip to stifle a moan and then thinks of how much he would rather be doing this with Nigel, so he stops, adjusts his erection so that it sits upright in the band of his pants, against his stomach, weepy head sticking out to peek and say hello, and goes out of the bathroom and down the hall to find Nigel standing at the door of his practice room, waiting.

Nigel had had a whole script made up in his head, a plan for dominant seduction to get things in the mood before he started playing his little game. But now, seeing Adam come out of the bathroom and toward him, shirtless, blushing with sexual excitement, the tip of his hard dick sticking out above his belt buckle, and it all just vanishes from his mind. He can't stop himself from looking at Adam from head to toe like a man who hadn't had any hydration in days, now looking at the tallest, most salivation-inducing glass of ice water ever right within his reach. To say that his jaw dropped would not be an overstatement. So, in order to avoid babbling like an idiot, he instead remains silent and tries to recover his composure by closing his eyes and gesturing for Adam to go into the room first.

Adam opens the door, and Nigel is assaulted by so much shiny wonder and beauty he momentarily forgets the prurient image he was just gawking at.

The hobby/practice room is small, smaller even than Adam's bedroom. The walls are all white and lined on two sides with three rows and two columns of dark wooden shelves attached to them via brackets drilled into the wall. Each shelf has on it a delicate model of our solar system, some small and some big, some made of metal and glass or wood. Some have actual motors, while others are hand cranked to move the intricate system of gears and tiny planets and moons. There is a small table to the left of the shelves, on it an array of small tools, brushes, dust rags, and bottles of grease, where Adam no doubt maintains his orreries.

In the middle of the room is Adam's kit. Set-up in the same way as the kit he uses in Studio Band, yet still distinctly 'Adam'; what distinguishes it is the presence of several gorgeous vintage cymbals attached to their respective stands. In the corner of the room is also a stack of a few more leaning against the wall. The time of day is perfect, as the sunlight filters in in fractal rays between the slits of the blinds and bounces off the shinier materials.

Nigel takes in the room, before looking at Adam, who had been standing off to the side, waiting for him to say something. “Adam, this is...it's very you. So lovely, and intricate, and rare,” he says as he looks at him and gestures with his hands, waving them up in the air, as though to admit surrender to the aesthetic onslaught of the artifacts of Adam's hobbies. They are pieces of Adam's beautiful mind objectified and Nigel loves to see the outside representation of what he has come to enjoy so much about getting to know Adam.

They spend the next few minutes admiring each thing, orreries and cymbals all, Adam holding Nigel's hand as he points to different pieces and tells the story of how he came to own them, how old they are, how they work, the materials they're made of, and how he cares for them. Nigel watches and listens raptly and has to hold himself back from scooping Adam up into his arms and melting him with kisses and adoration.

After a while Adam takes down a few orreries that need a good dusting and oiling, and he shows Nigel in minute detail how he spends his late Saturday mornings. Then he goes to his cymbals and shows off the different ones he has, mostly from the late twenties and thirties, mostly made in Turkey, all with differing patterns of patina and wear, all stunning. “They sound even better than they look, Nigel! May I show you?” Adam and Nigel are crouching near the pile of them on the floor and looking at each other closely, Adam smiling hugely.

“Please, do, Adam. It's about time to start working on that chart, I'd say.” Nigel speaks like smoke, his eyes lit with admiration and a renewed lust at the idea of finally putting his little plan into motion.

Adam recognizes that their game is about to begin and his dick gets some more blood pumped into it, renewing the hardness which had flagged in the previous minutes of gushing over his favorite objects. He merely nods at Nigel and moves to sit in the drummer's throne. Adam doesn't feel nervous. He feels electrified and suddenly brash. He loves the confidence these games give him, as he submits to Nigel's will, knowing how to please Nigel and elicit positive responses and this time he's going to play a little himself. He has seen the way Nigel reacted to his exposed flesh, and he is going to make the most of it for Nigel's pleasure.

Nigel remains in the corner of the room, back and off to the side from where Adam is sitting, standing and watching with hungry eyes. His arms are crossed seemingly to restrain himself from reaching out to touch silky skin. Adam coyly looks back over his shoulder, heavy lashes falling downward over half-lidded eyes drunk with arousal, “May I warm up first, Nigel?” Nigel gestures to him with an outward hand, palm facing up as if to say 'go on'. Adam knows exactly what to do now. He looks forward and begins to stretch, not even attempting to look at Nigel out of his peripheral.

He first reaches his right arm in front of himself, palm facing out, and brings his left hand to pull back on its fingers. He repeats it on the other arm. The stretch places an emphasis on the length of his lovely, abused fingers and palms, and accentuates all the lines on the bulging muscles of his forearms. To stretch his shoulders, he alternates putting his arms behind his head, the opposite hand pulling on the elbow to stretch that arm even further. His back muscles move as he does this, and Adam arches his back a little to put himself properly on display.

Then, Adam grabs his sticks from a bag on the floor near the bass drum pedal and gets ready to play. He plays some fills across the toms before going into full-fledged rudiments: first a single-stroke roll into a double, then a single paradiddle, a flam accent, and finally a single drag tap. Nigel watches the muscles of his arms and back undulate as he plays, and he fucking shivers where he stands. He has got to get it together if he is to keep the upper hand, so he moves around to the front of the kit, to put some of the equipment in the way of his view of Adam's body. “Are we warmed up now, gorgeous?”

“Yes, Nigel,” Adam practically breathes out, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, twisting it into something adorably feline.

[Too Many Zooz - SPOCKTOPUS](http://picosong.com/xeWc)

“Five-six-seven-and...” Nigel claps Adam off. Adam goes full swing into 'Caravan' playing lightning fast, though his muscles still ache and his hands are still wounded. He is on perfect time and Nigel has no need to stop him. Now more collected, Nigel lets a few measures go by before he starts to walk slowly around the kit to behind the drummer's seat. He's right behind Adam's right flank now, and he bends down to put his face closer to Adam's right ear. He begins by breathing hotly into Adam's right ear, and then flicks out the tip of his tongue to play at Adam's earlobe. Adam immediately fucks up a hit and stops, turning to look at Nigel, surprised, but not really.

He's blushing and grinning and panting. “I'm sorry. I'll start again.”

Nigel claps him off again, and Adam begins from the top. Nigel lets a few measures more than before go by this time, then leans down to bite hard onto the join of Adam's left side of his neck and shoulder. Adam's hands stammer and he fights a moan but he recovers quickly and keeps on playing. Pleased, Nigel begins trailing little kisses and nips up Adam's neck. Then, he starts sucking heavily on Adam's charming left ear, noisily moistening it with his tongue and lips, and both men can feel jolts of lascivious pleasure shooting through the nerves of their loins. Adam is still playing well, so Nigel ups the ante. He positions himself directly behind Adam, crouching down, and brings both of his hands to stroke gently up and down Adam's sides. He starts kissing his back, and biting hard there, too. Adam arches back into the sensation and moans openly, losing focus and completely fucking up his playing. Nigel stops touching him. “Not my tempo, Mr. Raki.”

Adam whines. He wants more touches. He's so turned on. He turns to give a pleading look at Nigel. “You want more?” Nigel spits out playfully, yet tough.

“Please, yes...” Adam is breathing heavily now both from physical exertion and sexual stimulation.

“Far be it from me to refuse such an earnest request. Play in fucking time, and you shall get what you desire, my darling Adam.”

Adam's chest warms at Nigel's words. He wants always to be referred to as 'Nigel's darling Adam'. “Yes, Nigel," he answers.

Nigel claps him off from his position low to the ground, and Adam plays again from the measure where he fucked up. After doing well for many measures, Nigel rewards him with more touching, this time attempting to seriously distract him from the difficult piece of music. He moves his hands from Adam's back to reach around and begin touching his nipples with the rough tips of his index fingers and thumbs. Adam moans a little, but doesn't miss a beat. Nigel begins pinching them hard, and Adam moans more and more loudly, and still doesn't miss a beat. Nigel likes the way things are going, but he's not gonna go easy on him anymore. Nigel reaches down to Adam's belt and unbuckles it. Next, he goes to reach for Adam's hard cock, when Adam completely stops playing. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Raki. This will not do.”

Adam's eyes are all beseeching as he looks back at his brutal conductor, “I'm sorry, Nigel. I'll do better.”

Nigel stands to loom over him, face hard with affected disappointment. “Look at me, Adam.” Adam doesn't turn his body, but tilts his head all the way back to look up at Nigel looking down at him. “You will be punished for your lack of focus under pressure. Left cheek, or right?”

Adam can't fight the satisfied grin creeping over his face, and unable to speak all of a sudden, he delectably points at his right cheek with his drum stick instead. Nigel's face shatters into giddy glee, and he brings his hand back and then down onto the right side of Adam's face. It's a hard slap that's stings like the dickens, and Adam feels like if he gets even one more, he'll come right there and now all over his trousers and snare drum. His voice fluctuates like the waves of a luscious apparatus as he pays his gratitude, “Thank you for correcting me, Nigel. May we start again?” Adam smiles dreamily at him, his eyes and expression thanks enough.

Nigel cups Adam's chin and right cheek in his hand, stroking at the place he'd just slapped. “We may, darling.” Then he releases Adam to start again. Meanwhile, he discovers he's gotten extremely stiff in his own pants, and it's getting harder and harder to accept not to be touched until release. His balls ache, full after being aroused all last night and this morning. He can postpone it a little while longer, he chides himself.

Nigel claps Adam off again, from the top. Then, not even three measures in, he goes to sabotage Adam once more. He wets his hands with his own saliva, crouches down, and reaches around Adam's waist with both hands to wrestle his gorgeous erection from the confines of his trousers and underwear. He begins stroking Adam hard and at a speedy pace. He's aiming for the ultimate distraction now. Adam keeps up, though, closing his eyes and sticking out the tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth in intense concentration. Next, Nigel starts sucking exquisitely painful hickeys onto any flesh he can get at on Adam's back. Adam moans loudly at this.

Nigel continues stroking him in languid, almost twisting motions, repetitively. He occasionally removes his hands to slick them again when they lose viscosity, but otherwise keeps his own lurid tempo while Adam plays.

A few measures from the end, and Adam's resistance is wearing thin. He is about to lose all control and enter into the ephemeral eternity of ecstasy. Nigel knows the piece is coming to an end, so he moves one of his hands down to play with Adam's balls. The new sensation is timely. Adam hits the last few beats, simultaneously and fervently coming onto Nigel's hands, his own slacks, and the drum kit.

Panting, he turns his body and then looks up at Nigel, immediately regretting losing control. Nigel pretends to look unhappy. Adam had not asked for permission like he should have to come. In their pretense and unspoken protocol, this is a delectable transgression that must be paid for in kind. “I couldn't keep it in Nigel.”

Nigel removes his hands and licks them clean, his exquisite tongue licking away like a panther bathing itself in the jungle, while not once breaking eye contact from Adam. Adam groans and pants as he watches this absolutely salacious display. “Left or right, Adam?” Adam points at his left cheek with his left index finger, and then he is struck hard again with two open slaps. They feel even better than the first. Then Nigel takes a hold of his pretty brunette curls in one hand and jerks his head upward while bringing his face next to Adam's. They both smell of cum and clean sweat, virile and alive. “I want your mouth.”

Adam's eyes close in rapture, “Oh god yes, Nigel...” Adam waits for Nigel to release him, and then begins clumsily working at Nigel's belt now centimeters away from his face. He whips the belt entirely out of its loopholes, throwing it to the floor, and then goes to unbutton Nigel's slacks. Nigel watches in amazement Adam's enthusiasm, and he knows it won't take much for him to finish.

“Fuck, Adam...” Nigel says, breathing hard.

“I've wanted this for so long, Nigel.” Adam looks up at Nigel again, taking Nigel's uncut dick out and tugging at it. He smiles broadly, so happy to be finally able to make Nigel feel as good as he's been aching to do since they first met. Then he tilts his face down to suck Nigel, first pulling back his tight foreskin slightly with his hands, licking into the inside of it and all around the head several times. Then he takes him in long, deep movements, again and again, alternating between pulling the foreskin up while he sucks back down, and vice versa. He occasionally stops to breathe, and then happily continues.

Nigel moans loud enough to disturb the neighbors and starts running his fingers through Adam's hair, “Such an excellent technique, Mr. Raki.” Adam mumbles a thank you around his cock and continues his ministrations. He adds a bit of gentle nibbling to the extra skin and Nigel feels like he's about to explode. So, he grabs as much of Adam's hair as he can and starts moving his head for him, fucking quick and deep into the sweet wetness of Adam's soft opening. Adam gags a bit and tears well up in the corners of his eyes, but he feels so good being full of Nigel and pleasuring him. When he takes the opportunity to breathe in, he revels in the scent that is uniquely Nigel at the base of his cock and the thick dark hair growing around it.

Nigel feels like he's about to finish and he lets Adam know, “Take all of it now, gorgeous.” Nigel breathes out deep and low. Then, he's coming in strong spurts against the back of Adam's throat.

Bound together now in body fluids and the intricacies of their sexual power exchanges, Nigel knows he'll never feel as good with anyone else as he does with Adam. He will be submersed in the experiences of truly knowing and caring for one another as time goes by, and he never wants to float at their surfaces again.


	11. Cadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel asks Adam an important question. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [In case anyone is unfamiliar with the New York Port Authority.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44fCfJQV7yQ)

 

[European Jazz Trio - Clair de Lune (Debussy)](http://picosong.com/xECf)

_Cadence - A key-establishing chord progression, generally following the circle of fifths. Sometimes a whole section of a tune can be an extended cadence. In understanding the harmonic structure of a tune, it's important to see which chords are connected to which others in cadences._

After basking in the afterglow of their mutually achieved orgasms, cuddling on the floor behind the drum set in Adam's practice room, the two emerged later to settle in the dining room and get down to plotting out the day. They sat at the table for a while with Adam's laptop, making plans. Nigel had insisted that Adam travel with him in his Mercedes to the city they were travelling to, where they would then separate near the venue to avoid suspicion. Adam had found the idea of them being together all the past twenty-four hours, only to separate for twenty minutes, spending taxi fare, and then to reunite at the venue, unnecessarily convoluted. If they were going to make an effort not to let the others in Studio Band know they had been together, why not just go the whole way and travel separately?

"But Nigel, you can just drop me off at the Port Authority. Google says if I leave at 2:00 PM, it's only a travel time of an hour and twenty four minutes. That will leave plenty of time for me to catch a taxi to go to the venue," Adam says as he sips his tea, staring intently into the monitor. He is still shirtless, hickeys all over his back and bite marks on his shoulders, sitting with his slack-draped legs folded into each other at the dining room table.

Nigel sits opposite him, and a chill runs up his spine as vivid recollections of the infamous bus terminal flash through his mind. "No fucking way are you stepping a foot into that place, darling," Nigel says, shaking his head fervently.

"I used that terminal the last time we had a competition at Dunellen. It's just a bus station, Nigel. Although, it is a bit....filthy," Adam says, pausing a bit as he recollects the state of the place. He kept rubbing hand sanitizer over any exposed skin that had come in contact with anything as he waited for his bus to come. He hadn't dared to use the bathroom.

A sudden, strong feeling of guilt washes over Nigel at the realization that if he had simply moved forward with their relationship sooner, he could have saved Adam from having to visit such a place. He doesn't want to make even worse mistakes in the future. Nigel has more resources than him, being older and financially solvent, and he would like to help make Adam's life more convenient. Not like a sugar daddy; well, maybe he wouldn't mind being called something like that in bed, but, _no_ , the point is that he cares deeply for Adam and he wants to be with him and also to help make his life easier in any way that he can. Suddenly, he knows what he must do.

"Adam, can I ask...." and then Nigel sighs heavily with awkwardness, "...can I ask, if you are seeing anyone else currently?" He looks at Adam hopefully. As gorgeous and talented as Adam is, he finds it insane that Adam would not be pursued by others with romantic intentions.

Adam's eyebrows pop up as he turns his attention away from the computer, "You mean, am I dating anyone else right now?"

"Yes, Adam."

"No...I don't even know if I'm dating you. But, if you mean to parse out whether I have other emotional and sexual partners or not, then I will clear that up for you. I am only engaging in an emotional and sexual relationship with you at present. Why do you ask?" Adam looks at Nigel's expression. It is soft, almost a sad thing, and he is not used to seeing Nigel this way. He had only seen it once, in the car the day before, when Nigel had yet to answer whether he would be coming upstairs or not.

"I...uh...Adam...I would like for us to date. Exclusively. If you have no objections...the thing is...I'm absolutely besotted with you and I think we would be good for each other." Nigel looks down at the wood grain of the table, afraid to see rejection on Adam's face.

Adam brightens up immediately, though, his voice pitched with happy intonation. "Really, Nigel!?"

"Of course, Adam," Nigel says, eyes shooting up to meet Adam's.

Adam, still happy, answers, "Yes, I would love to date you, exclusively."

They both smile big, warmth and tenderness radiating strong between them. Then Adam starts searching around the room with his eyes, as though looking for some kind of hint as to how to react. "I want to show you how happy I am that you've asked me this, Nigel. But, I don't know what I should do."

"Just do what you want to do, darling."

With that, Adam pushes his laptop aside on the otherwise empty tabletop. He then rises up on the table, easily, from his previously cross-legged position, and gets on all fours. He makes direct eye contact with Nigel, and then, he begins crawling towards his now-boyfriend, head steady and shoulders rolling alternately as his lithe form moves unhurried. Like a cat sauntering towards a bowl of milk. He crawls this way, as Nigel sits, stunned with awe, until his face is mere centimeters away from Nigel's own. Adam keeps space between them as he uses his eyes to teasingly appraise Nigel's features. He lets out a long exhalation, then, staring at Nigel's mouth, he speaks, something soft and pleasant, "I'm so happy you asked."

Adam leans in and kisses Nigel, chastely, before crawling down to straddle Nigel's abdomen with his legs. He keeps his bottom on the top of the table and wraps his arms around Nigel's shoulders. Then, he nuzzles into Nigel's neck and just breathes him in.

♪♬♭

That day they decided to go together, all the way, but instead left an extra hour early. That way they could arrive early enough that others would likely not have yet have gotten there. Nigel helped Adam pick out his clothes that he would wear for the competition. They also planned on having dinner together in Dunellen, careful not to leave together until everyone had already gone first, before coming back just in time for Adam's usually scheduled sleeping time.

The competition went off without a hitch, and with the new and impressive 'Caravan' as their second piece, the judges were beyond dazzled. There were even rumors that some gentlemen observing in the back were from some of The Collectives. Another victory under their belt, and the two were unbelievably content, sure that nothing could ever take this away from them, and that things could only get increasingly better now that they were in each other's lives.


	12. Nigel Has a Sybian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Nigel spend Summer Break together. Nigel helps Adam to overcome something that has haunted him all his life...with the promise of orgasms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A fun video about the Sybian.](http://thestallionstyle.com/all-about-sybian-machine/)

 

  
[](http://imgur.com/a/8ZLeK)

 

♪♬♭

[Erroll Garner - Exactly Like You](http://picosong.com/xdFb)

"Adam! Food's almost ready!" Nigel calls out, as he stirs the cheese sauce for his homemade macaroni and cheese. He is in the kitchen of his modest but elegant bachelor's apartment, a nice two room in Midtown, just a couple of blocks away from Shaffer. He is wearing his signature black T-shirt and slacks, with the addition of a white apron tied around his waist.

Adam comes back into the doorway of his kitchen, called in from snooping around Nigel's bedroom closet, then stands in the door frame with his hands loose and down at his sides. He quietly studies the profile of his lovely boyfriend, as Nigel takes the lid off of one of the pots he's tending to, the steam rising up from it white against the orange glow of the overhead light above Nigel's gas stovetop. The steam envelops Nigel's face for a moment, like dreamy clouds, and the sudden added moisture causes some of his nicely comb-backed bangs to fall into his face. Adam thinks again that he is the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Nigel hasn't heard him come in, so he hollers again for Adam to come and eat.

"I'm right here, Nigel," Adam says softly.

Nigel startles at Adam's words and accidentally brushes his hand against the edge of a pot. "La naiba! _Shit!_ "

Apparently, Nigel reverts to swearing in his native language only when in pain. This is another tidbit Adam tucks away into his Almanac of Nigel, and he can't help but wonder what heights of ecstasy it would take to make Nigel swear in Romanian during sex.

"Darling, have a seat," Nigel then says, gesturing to the kitchen table with a terse jut of his chin. Adam complies as Nigel ladles big scoops of mac n' cheese into plain white bowls, before bringing them over to set down on the table.

"Thank you, Nigel." Adam grabs a fork and starts digging into the homemade meal. Adam doesn't bother with the pleasantries of complimenting Nigel's food, instead smiling and moaning a little bit when the flavor reaches his tongue. Nigel watches, happy to see the physical response Adam gives that shows he truly likes his cooking.

"I appreciate you coming to spend time with me during the summer break, Adam. God knows I'm so used to seeing you nearly everyday." Nigel doesn't look at Adam as he says this, instead smiling warmly into his bowl of mac n' cheese, holding his fork but not yet putting any food on it.

"You're welcome, Nigel."

Minutes go by as they eat together wordlessly, before Adam breaks the silence. "Nigel, what is that black machine you have tucked into the back of your closet? It's heavy, so I'm guessing it has a sizable motor."

Nigel nearly chokes on a mouthful of pasta, laughing a bit. "Adam, when I said you could take a look around my room, I didn't expect you'd go into the inner recesses of my storage space."

Adam gets worried, his fork held in mid-air. "Have I done something wrong?"

Nigel puts his hands up, palms outward, in an effort to ease Adam's concern. "No, no, darling. I only meant that I was surprised at how thoroughly you explored in such a short amount of time. It's a...a relic from a past relationship. I don't use it anymore."

"But, what is it exactly?"

"Um, it's a Sybian, Adam. And it has two motors." Nigel feels a little awkward, but also slightly aroused. He loves Adam's open inquisitiveness, especially when it leads to something with so much erotic possibility. "It's a kind of sex toy that one sits down on, like a saddle. There are silicone attachments which can be put on top, that vibrate and rotate to stimulate the person sitting on it."

Adam uses his fork to gather up more from his bowl, but doesn't take a bite, instead looking down into the mass of yellow cream and elbow-shaped pasta as he speaks. "Can you show me how it works, Nigel?" Then Adam's eyes shoot up to make contact with Nigel's, looking for his response to the request. Adam is greeted with a wide smirk and a raised right eyebrow.

"You merely want to see how it works, darling? Or do you want to sit on it and try it out for yourself?"

Adam blushes a bit before answering. "Honestly?...Both. But it depends on how I feel before I consider sitting on it. I don't know how it works, or if it's noisy, or if it will be uncomfortable. I think, I would definitely like it if you showed me first, though, Nigel."

And the cogs in Nigel's head start turning.

♪♬♭

Adam is sitting on the velvet green loveseat in Nigel's living room when Nigel finally emerges with the machine, staring at the glossy posters of the Jazz legends that line the walls. Duke Ellington, Art Blakey, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Benny Goodman: luminaries whose greatness continue to shine long after they have gone, like the light from extinguished stars, just now reaching Earth. Adam sighs thinking about it. No thumbtacks visible, they seem to be mounted on a thicker backing and then glazed over with some kind of resin, rather than merely pinned to the wall. They are posted symmetrically, either side of the single file of shelves running up the middle of the wall adjacent to the sofa, packed neatly full of various LPs and 45s. Next to that, there is a small table with a vintage record player on top. Adam sits comfortably slumped into the piece of furniture, his hands folded into each other atop his lap.

"I see your record player, Nigel. But there aren't any wires going to the speakers. I assume then, that they are Bluetooth? How is the sound delivered to them? I thought vintage players didn't have any built-in pre-amps," Adam asks at Nigel's back, as the older man busies himself with situating the impressive sex toy into the middle of the room.

Nigel grins with half of his mouth, always entertained by the details that never escape his pretty drummer's notice. "You're right, Mr. Raki." Nigel answers Adam's inquisition without lifting his eyes. He focuses on then positioning the Sybian the way he wants, setting the control unit neatly beside, and continues answering Adam as he goes to take the power cord to plug into the wall, "I have deceived you." At the last bit he turns to look cheekily over his shoulder, and he sees Adam's look of surprise at Nigel's choice of words. Adam doesn't say anything in his confusion. So, Nigel continues.

"It's actually a modern player – an Audio Technica – and it didn't look bad to begin with, it was, in point of fact, quite sleek, but I'm just a big sucker for that vintage look. So, I bought a broken player at an estate sale, gutted it, modified it, and then put the AT-LP60 inside, without its original casing. Had to make a lot of custom pieces to make it look good." Nigel stands and calls Adam over to have a closer look with a wave of his hand.

Adam comes over quickly and opens the unit cover as Nigel watches, "Ah, I see... I like how you added the extra hole here on the back for easy access to the audio and USB ports." Adam grabs a piece that's plugged into the mini jack; it's white and resembles a strange little computer mouse, but without any of the buttons. "Is this how you transmit?"

Nigel takes his left hand and begins running his fingers through Adam's hair and looks at Adam's lovely profile. Somehow all this technical talk is doing something for him. "Yes, baby."

Adam looks up at the ceiling, a thought having popped into his head, "Nigel, couldn't you have just bought a reproduction record player? There are many nice brands these days that make fake vintage players that look just like the real thing."

Nigel chuckles. "Yes, I could have. But where is the fun in that? Besides, the AT-LP60 sounds better."

Adam's eyes move around the room, noticing a lovely houseplant suspended from an eye bolt screwed into the ceiling, locating all the audio devices as he speaks. "You have just the four tweeters in the corners of the room, with the woofer at the base of your record case?"

Nigel steps closer and begins nosing Adam's ear, nipping at the soft skin behind it, and sucking noisily at the lobe before humming an affirmative 'mmhhmm' into the appealing auricle.

Adam's eyes flutter shut at the sudden shift in mood and erotic stimulus Nigel is applying to his ear. "Nigel..."

"Yes, baby?" Nigel answers, his hands roaming Adam's back now under his shirt, as his mouth continues its devious ministrations at Adam's ear and neck.

"I think we should look at the Sybian before we get side tracked."

"Always so deliciously pragmatic, my lovely drummer," and with that Nigel leads Adam over to the big black unit on the floor, where they sit on their knees beside it.

Nigel takes the time to show Adam all the parts and explains how the controls work. There is a motor for the vibration, and one for the rotation. It is very simple to operate, the control unit having two switches for rotation and vibration, respectively, and two knobs above them to control the intensity of speed. The unit itself is a big, semi-circular, black tube, with a stem on top where attachments to be inserted go on top. Nigel has, in total, eleven attachments all made of violet silicone, but only two that are actually useful for people seeking anal and prostate stimulation.

"Can we open it? I want to see the two motors inside moving," Adam asks as he begins removing the washable cover.

"Darling, I'll have to get the power drill. It's all screwed shut. This thing is supposedly maintenance free. A lifetime guarantee. You're not really supposed to open it."

Adam looks at Nigel and asks again, "I really want to see inside, Nigel."

Nigel huffs, then gestures at Adam with a crooked finger, "Adam, come here and give me a big, sloppy, wet kiss and I will do whatever the fuck you want me to do."

Adam hurriedly jumps onto Nigel's lap, wrapping his arms around his thick neck, his legs straddling his hips, and proceeds to attack his mouth with thrusts and undulations of soft wet tongue. They make vulgar slurping noises as they make out deeper and deeper, and then Adam starts grinding into Nigel, making them both hard. Too soon, Adam stops and pulls back slowly, a string of saliva connecting their lips for a moment, as they look at each other with heavy lidded eyes. "Where do you keep your power drill, Nigel?"

Nigel groans and pushes Adam off of his lap, Adam letting out a surprised little 'hmpph' as his bottom bruskly hits the ground, and then Nigel stands and stomps over to the small closet in the nearby hallway. He comes back with a bright red Dremel set, opens it quickly, pulls out the drill, pops the battery unit onto the end, and matches the correct drill bit to remove the oval-headed machine screws that fasten the cover onto the unit. He removes the cover briskly, and with a show of his right hand, the left still holding the Dremel, makes a little ta-da motion, before flipping the vibration and rotation switches. The motors jump to life noisily, more intense than your everyday neck massager, but less so than say, a weedwhacker. Adam quickly covers his ears with his hands and shuts his eyes as he curls up into himself. Nigel sees him react this way and quickly shuts them off.

"Adam, what's wrong?!" Nigel crowds near him but doesn't grab or even touch him.

After a few moments of being frozen this way, Adam takes his hands away from his ears and slowly returns to an upright position. "I'm sorry, Nigel. I didn't expect it to be so loud, even with the casing off... I have issues with noise sensitivity."

"Darling, you bang repeatedly on the loudest instrument in a group of other very loud musical instruments being blown into and banged on for several hours a day, five days a week. Not to mention my psycho ranting punctuating every fuck up and pause in between said banging."

Adam looks down at the floor. "Yeah and it took me years and years of therapy to get that way."

Nigel doesn't say anything at first, but when he realizes that Adam won't say more without any prodding, he goes for it, "Could you tell me more, darling? I'd like to know more about your life." He goes to touch Adam in reassurement, but thinks better of it now that Adam has been over sensitized, and pulls his hand away. Adam goes on after a moment.

"Ever since I was young, I experienced sensory overload quite easily, especially with strong smells and noise. Smells I could avoid when I needed to but, we live in a noisy world, Nigel. Even the low frequency humming of the refrigerator hurt my ears. It made it impossible to do anything. I couldn't focus on homework. I didn't want to play on the playground because of the kids screaming and laughing…I just stayed in my room with everything unplugged and played with my orreries. They had moving parts, but moved quietly."

Nigel takes this in. Tries to imagine a life where sound hurt. He finds that he can't, and his chest aches inside of his ribs.

"My dad finally had to do something about it, and we were able to find a specialist who dealt with kids on the spectrum experiencing auditory sensory overload. She was very good. She started me off on classical music, especially Mozart, played at low frequencies...then we moved on to gradually desensitizing me to appliance sounds, motor sounds, everything that hurt. It didn't really work at first, so she tried other methods. There was a drum brought into the mix. Just a single snare on a stand with a stick in the middle of a room...and something clicked for me. The rhythm, the order, the logic of it all, it touched something deep inside of me, brought me to a place where I could tune out from the world. The noise was predictable and beautiful and not scary for once. Later, I begged my dad to buy me a kit, and he was so happy I was into something so loud, and very encouraging. He even paid for lessons...the only guy in the neighborhood was a jazz drummer so, my love of Jazz developed from there..."

Nigel smiles ear to ear, touched by this story of how Jazz saved Adam from a life of pain and one without music.

"But, as you can see, the continuous, single note rumblings of motors are still very intolerable for me...I don't think I should use this, Nigel."

Intuitively, Nigel quickly formulates a plan to help Adam out. "Do you trust me, Adam?" Nigel asks, extending a hand for Adam to take. Adam nods and puts his hand in Nigel's. "Why don't we experiment? Maybe if you make pleasurable associations with the sounds, they can become more tolerable to you. At first, I'll put on the record player really loud, you choose the music, the tempo, and I will match the intensity of vibrations to it. We can then gradually increase everything, and eventually phase out the music...What do you think?"

"Okay," is what Adam says, but what he doesn't voice is just how thankful and moved he is that Nigel doesn't think anything of his sensory issues, but wants instead to help him and to pleasure him while they're at it. Making pleasant associations with something that has been haunting him at every turn in his life...this would be life-changing... "But what about your neighbors, Nigel? It's quite late."

Nigel tucks some of Adam's hair behind a lovely ear, "Fuck em'," he says, and smiles, before leaning in to kiss Adam open mouthed but tender.

Adam immediately stands up and goes to the shelves lined with vinyl and begins browsing. He is pleased to find that they are organized according to artist and band, in chronological order – different from his own organizational method but still very logical, and almost more efficient when it comes to searching for music according to mood.

Nigel meanwhile gets back to putting the casing back on the Sybian with his drill, before replacing the washable cover and choosing one of the simpler attachments and placing it on top. He puts the Dremel back in its case and returns it to the closet. He then goes to his room to retrieve some other things.

He comes back out with a small, black, open container, it's contents meant to help in the evening of experimentation to come:

  * One 16 ounce bottle of Sliquid Organics Botanically Infused Glycerin and Paraben Free Natural Lubricating Gel
  * 11 meters of dark purple nylon rope, 3/8″ in diameter, neatly coiled
  * 1 pair of black EMT safety shears (just in case)
  * A set of onyx black metal and PVC coated nipple clamps
  * 4 white hand towels



Adam turns and greets him with his first musical choice, the classic Miles Davis album 'Nefertiti'.

Nigel smirks wide, "Excellent choice, gorgeous."


	13. Orgasms as a Mute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE SYBIAN EXPERIMENT COMMENCES! WARNING: PURE SMUT, JAZZ, AND FEELS AHEAD!!!! MOSTLY SMUT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rigging informed greatly by [the amazing Pete Riggs over at RopeConnections.com!](http://www.ropeconnections.com/)

 

_A mute is a device fitted to a musical instrument to alter the sound produced: by affecting the timbre, reducing the volume, or most commonly both._

 

Nigel places the container on the ground next to the Sybian, then goes up to Adam. "Adam I would like for you to let me take the reins here. I will do everything for you. Instruct you precisely on what to do. Your main task this evening is to listen to me, down to every last syllable, and comply with my directions. Let's make this as simple as possible, shall we? The less you have to think, the more you can focus on dealing with all the unpleasant _and_ pleasant stimuli coming your way."

Adam smiles a bit, and gives a tiny kiss to the corner of Nigel's mouth. "Yes, Nigel."

Nigel takes the LP from Adam's hands and walks it over to the record player. Adam closes his eyes and just listens to the subtle sounds of the album slipping out of cardboard, then being put down onto the turntable, before the mechanical arm swings over and the first scratchy sounds echo out as the needle works its way through the grooves pressed into the vinyl.

  
[Miles Davis - Nefertiti](http://picosong.com/Dq2z)

He opens his eyes again to find Nigel before him, slowly unbuttoning his powder blue dress shirt, short sleeved for the summer heat, looking deep into his eyes as his fingers work at the tiny disks lining the front. The title track comes on, a sad saxophone moaning about something Adam doesn't know the name of but feels like he understands all the same, and Nigel presses his lips to Adam's. He kisses him and kisses him and the tempo, a medium swing, goes on and on, and his hands travel into the plackets of his shirt and push it over his shoulders, down his arms, off and to the ground. Next he moves down to Adam's brown belt, unbuckling it, never stopping kissing him, the trumpet and the drums and the piano coming in now. He pulls it out of its loops and then undoes the clasp and zipper on Adam's navy blue linen pants. Nigel pulls away for a few moments and just rests his forehead against Adam's and they smile at each other.

"And what's our word again, darling Adam?"

"Lydian."

"That's my boy."

Nigel then kisses his way down Adam's torso. He moves downward more and more. As he kisses down to Adam's waistline, he takes hold of his pants and boxer briefs with both hands, and pulls them down slowly, kissing every bit of flesh as it's revealed. Adam steps out of his pants then, before Nigel holds his feet up one by one to remove his navy dress socks. Adam is now fully bared, exquisite and vulnerable.

Nigel stands back up and kisses him again on the cheek. He then takes Adam by the elbows, still facing him, and gently lowers him onto the Sybian. Adam straddles it, then his legs fold back to sit comfortably on the floor, soles pointed toward the ceiling. The silicone attachment, a flat one with several rows of raised nubs towards the front, is cold on Adam's perineum, and he laughs surprised at the startling sensation. The nubs sit under his balls. Nigel grins as he watches the chill from them cause the skin on Adam's sack to contract even more beneath Adam's engorged member.

Next, Nigel goes to his room closet again, after asking Adam to sit still and wait, to retrieve the accompanying stool that came with the sex toy, upholstered in the same black material, meant for a partner's use. He sets it down right next to the Sybian, then goes to the record player and turns the volume way up. The trumpet and saxophone are on their second go at the truncated twelve bar theme, this groundbreaking song special for having the brass do the ostinato for once, the rhythm section instead taking turns to solo. Nigel then sits down on the stool, his legs placed over Adam's, hugging his waist tightly. Nigel takes off his shirt in a swift motion – he wants Adam to feel close and safe during all of this as they make skin to skin contact. He picks up the control from the floor and drapes the cable of it on his own still clothed thigh for it to hang from, easily within reach. He takes Adam's arms and sets them on his shoulders so Adam can hug his neck and cuddle into the crook there. He just lets them sit there for a moment until Adam's breathing slows down and maintains a steady rhythm. Then, it's time to start.

"Are we ready now?" Nigel purrs into Adam's ear.

Adam nods.

Nigel grabs the control unit and sets the intensity at about fifteen percent, then switches it on. The motor starts and the device begins vibrating under Adam. He startles and then grabs tight at Nigel, the hum of the motor somewhat cutting its way through the notes blasting through the room. His ears hurt. But the vibrations feel good.

"How are we, darling?" Nigel asks loudly, competing with the record player.

Adam's nostrils flare as he tries to control his breathing, his eyes closed against Nigel's shoulder. The pain is there, but it is bearable, thanks to the warmth and softness of Nigel's skin, and the pleasant movements under him. "Still okay, Nigel."

Adam listens to the record player. He focuses on the excellent Tony Williams solo in the last few minutes of the title track. He focuses on each hit of the snare and the bass drum and the clapping of the high hats; envisions playing the solo himself. His fingers tap out the beat on Nigel's back. It helps, a lot. The vibration still feels good on his balls, but he can't completely enjoy it just yet, the sound of the motor grating.

They remain this way through the next track, "Fall", Adam steadily enjoying the vibrating sensations on his loins more and more, Nigel stroking the skin all over his torso meanwhile. Then, just when "Hand Jive" is about to come on, the tempo foreseeably increasing, Nigel takes his hands and puts them on Adam's face. He forces Adam to look him in the eyes, and then he shifts his head to talk directly into Adam's ear.

"Now, I'm going to increase the vibration up to 40%. The motor will be noticeably louder. But first, I'm going to stand up and decrease the volume on the record player to about halfway. Then, I'm going to come back, make the vibration adjustment, lube up my hand, and give you the best fucking hand job you've ever gotten and I'm going to kiss you and your rapturous body and make you feel so fucking good, baby. Do you understand me?" Adam nods with his eyes closed, feeling so turned on by Nigel's throaty promises, and he grips Nigel tighter.

"Let's not try to control the pleasure at all. You come as fast as you want, and we can build you back up again when you're ready. Okay?" Adam nods again, relieved at Nigel's instructions, as he doubts he can focus on all the competing sensory input and still keep his orgasm at bay with Nigel's expert touch manipulating him on top of it all. He brings his face up to Nigel's. He kisses him deep and moves his hands up to play with the thicket of golden brown chest hair that sits on Nigel's chest.

Next, Nigel stands and goes to the record player. He reduces the volume to where he promised Adam, then returns to his previous position. He re-situates Adam's hands to grip at the edges of the sex toy, and nudges him with his hand on Adam's right shoulder to indicate that he should lean back slightly to provide easy access to his lovely erection. Then he reaches down to the black container he had set aside to take out the lube, sticking it between his thighs uncapped to get at easily once he wants to start.

"Get ready – increasing vibration...now," Nigel says, as he grabs the controller and turns the control knob up.

The motor buzzes louder and the music plays lower. The increase in movement on his perineum feels even better, but he can hardly enjoy it in his current mind state. The sound is not so much painful, as when Nigel first turned the device on, rather, there is an anxiety now that Adam feels in anticipation of pain. His brain braces itself as it recalls past experiences and he worries and sweats and grits his teeth and shuts his eyes tight and then suddenly he is fished from the waters of apprehension as Nigel wraps a well-lubed hand around his cock and begins moving it up and down without prelude. He grips him tightly, his strong fingers applying the right kind of pressure expertly along every fold of skin and bulging vein. As he moves toward the tip, he squeezes his palm just so around the edge of the dripping head, popping around the convex, sensitive skin, where the head meets the shaft, with enthusiastic movement. Adam's eyes open wide and his jaw goes slack as titilation replaces fear. The vibration now compounds the sensations.

"Nigel!" He moans, loudly. And Adam's abs start contracting in blissful jerks.

Nigel smiles smugly. "Enjoying ourselves?"

Adam nods fervently.

Nigel hums – it is a sound full of fondness and lurid joy. "Good, Adam. So, good. Enjoy yourself for me." Then Nigel leans in to kiss Adam. He uses his tongue to lick and taste at Adam's ringent opening, gaped in panting pleasure, before withdrawing and leaning back to his original position. He returns all of his focus to jacking Adam off. Up and down, up and down. If Adam listens closely enough he can make out the wanton sounds of lubricated skin slicking against skin. He looks down to watch the glistening head of himself disappear in and out of Nigel's fist.

Then, he looks into Nigel's face. It is absolutely debauched. Beautiful. He momentarily ceases to be just a man and becomes something else entirely, transformed by Adam's admiration. This gorgeous, sexy, virile thing wants him. Wants to give him pleasure. Gives it willingly and feels pleasure because of this. And oh so well. The idea itself rattles around Adam's head and knocks all the apprehension and buzzing machinery noise out of focus until it's all he can think about. It's enough to send him over the edge.

"Nigel...Nigel...Nigel..." Adam pants out repeatedly.

Nigel knows what's coming (or whom). The right corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement. He leans towards Adam again and starts sucking at his neck intermittently as he speaks, "What is it, Adam?" More sucking.

"I'm going to....I'm going to...to..."

Then, Nigel says distinctly, huskily, before sucking a luxuriously painful love bite onto Adam's right clavicle. "Come. Now."

Adam groans out the name of his delightful conductor as he comes in short bursts to drip all over their laps and the Sybian between them. "Hand Jive" ends. Nigel switches off the vibration. And the record player's headshell of the tone arm bounces off the center spindle, crackling sounds rhythmically echoing out as it moves. Side A is done.

♪♬♭

For a while after, they decided on taking a breather before getting back into their experiment again. Nigel spooned Adam on the living room floor, their arms folded under their sated crowns for support, as they discussed briefly what was going on in their heads as the record had played and the machine had buzzed and they had taken their pleasures. Adam had responded very well to Nigel's treatment, they both surmised.

Adam joked lovingly that Nigel should give up Jazz and pursue Auditory Sensory Therapy instead, and Nigel quipped about being able to treat only an extremely limited demographic, one composed of lovely drummers with immense talent and gorgeous brown curls, who liked corporal punishment and disliked eye contact, and they laughed and kissed and cuddled and intertwined their fingers and legs and generally just fell in love with each other more and more as each moment passed.

Later, still on the floor but now facing each other, Adam decides then, that he feels comfortable enough to proceed. "Nigel, I think I'm ready again." He speaks as his fingers absentmindedly stroke Nigel's right nipple, teasing it back to pleasant hardness. Nigel grabs Adam's naughty hand and takes it into his to kiss the top of before he replies. He has a spectacular plan for stage two.

"Wonderful. Please select a new piece of music for this next round...make it something...up-tempo."

They both stand. Adam goes to the records to browse. He takes his time.

Nigel goes to sit on the loveseat. Sitting with his knees spread out and relaxed, he lights up a cigarette and watches Adam's lissome form move amongst the shelves. He takes his time, too.

As Adam finally turns around with his selection, minutes later, Nigel is also taking the last drag of his cigarette and putting it out in the ashtray on the coffee table. Nigel takes one look at the album sleeve and jumps up in excited recognition. He gestures with his hands and a happy grin on his face, the music nerd in him genuinely pleased. "You read my fucking mind, gorgeous!" He walks quickly, circumventing the low table in front of him, up to Adam, to grab him by the waist and twirl him up and around. "Fucking great minds think alike, don't they?!" And he kisses Adam several times in quick successions, beaming with pride and camaraderie, so in awe of how sometimes they can understand each other this well, despite all their past misconceptions.

Then, Adam blushes from Nigel's infectious enthusiasm. "Do you really think so, Nigel? I sensed that the rendition of Mingus' 'Moanin' on this album would be ideal for what I hoped you would do to me...the pacing, the energy, the intensity of it." Adam looks at the album, contemplating it a moment before continuing. "I didn't know they had vinyl pressings. I just own the CD."

"And precisely what was it you were hoping I would do to you?" Nigel asks as he releases Adam, his brow raised quizzically upon his face.

"I was hoping...we could try some prostate stimulation. I've never done it, and I wanted to try it out with you," Adam says. He runs his fingers up and down the spine of the album he's still holding. He's a little shy to admit that he has yet to experience anal play.

"Adam...that was just what I was planning on doing." Nigel smiles bigger now that he's confirmed that they both want to try the same things, so in tune with one another. "But, I must confess I'm a bit thrown off guard by the fact that you haven't attempted it yet, even on your own."

"Why do you say that?"

Nigel takes the album from Adam and walks over to the put it on the record player. He answers as he switches it out for "Nefertiti' and places that back into its respective album cover. "Adam, you give the most singularly expert blow jobs I have ever been blessed with being on the receiving end of. I guessed you had to have had at least some practice being with men...anal play just kind of goes with the territory, doesn't it? Also, I assumed you were the type to explore your body thoroughly, and early on, the inquisitive, gorgeous thing that you are."

Adam looks up in consideration, recalling his past experiences. "Yeah, I can see how you would draw those conclusions. I _have_ had sex with one guy. We met for four and a half weeks. We only ever touched each other with our hands and our mouths. I was getting really attached to him, but he just didn't reciprocate." Adam sighs deeply then, a blank look on his face. Then he turns to make eye contact with Nigel. "Dating doesn't usually work out for me...and I was thinking about getting some sort of prostate stimulating toy, but...the subject of sex just ended up becoming a big source of anxiety for me because of my difficulty with meeting people...and I just...I just wanted to focus on my music for a while. Then of course, I met you." Adam smiles at this last tidbit.

Nigel is somewhat baffled by Adam's admission. He could hardly imagine a more attractive person, and here Adam was, having a hard time getting laid. The world was a crazy, stupid fucking place, but Nigel wasn't going to question his good fortune because of it. "And I'm so lucky you did. I'd like to thank that guy for giving you such excellent instruction, but I have an inkling that most of that lovely skill came from your own personal dedication."

"There are many how-to guides and instructional videos on performing fellatio available on the internet. It isn't difficult to learn how," Adam replies as he goes over nearby to the Sybian.

After so many nights spent together catering to their particular kinky inclinations, Adam waits for Nigel's instruction as though it were second nature, standing in a position all too familiar to them, one indicating that Adam is ready whenever Nigel is. His face is toward the wall and away from Nigel. His feet are shoulder width apart. Knees locked. Back straight. Chest out. His toned arms are bent at the elbows to ninety degree angles. And his right hand is locked in a fist, as the left grasps at that wrist.

Nigel looks back briefly from the audio device to see what Adam is doing, and then double takes when he realizes what stance Adam is in. He smiles to himself as a deep, warm feeling pools in his gut, his body responding automatically to an image seen often from repeated past events. He is both endeared and aroused from the mental associations alone. Nigel then takes the record out and sets it on side A, where the desired track is several minutes in from the beginning.

Nigel speaks with his back still turned to Adam, looking down at the album sitting on the turntable. He lets his voice drop into that authoritative register that reverberates deep into Adam's loins. "Go to the sofa, Adam. Bend over and place both forearms shoulder-width apart on the armrest."

"Yes, Nigel." And Adam does as he's told.

[Mingus Big Band 93 - Nostalgia in Times Square](http://picosong.com/DqVX)

He hears Nigel turn the record player on and can sense that the record has begun to spin and that the arm is now swinging over for the needle to make contact with the grooves of the vinyl. And then the first scratches play for a few moments before the music echoes out, at the same volume as before, the rhythm section kicking it off as the voice of baritonist Ronnie Cuber drawls on rhythmically, charismatically, humorously even, about his memorable first encounter with the legendary bassist and band leader himself, Charles Mingus.

The trumpets and saxes screech out charming one-off notes and trilling coos, hinting at the cool shit that's about to go down just a few bars away. The tempo builds and then Nigel comes up right behind Adam just as Cuber finishes his speech and the brass slides real slick-like into the head of the tune. Nigel roughly kicks at both of Adam's ankles in turn to spread sweet legs as far as he wants them, just before he kneels down between them and digs his fingertips into the plump, tantalizing globes of Adam's pert ass.

"Arch your back," he commands.

Adam dips it shallowly, unsure. He is not yet precisely grasping why Nigel wants him in this position or what Nigel is about to do. Apparently, this lovely, delicious boy has never been rimmed. Nigel gives a stinging open handed slap to the right ass cheek as he pushes down into the lumbar section of Adam's back, "Deeper, Mr. Raki. I want you wide fucking open."

The lead saxophone heads into a deeply satisfying solo, and Nigel spreads Adam unbarred, before sticking out his tongue to make hot, wet contact with Adam's most private aperture. Adam's head whips backward in surprise and in instantaneous enjoyment, moaning out Nigel's name, voice high pitched with elated astonishment. This movement causes his pelvis to move forward, bringing his ass out of that beautiful curve Nigel had previously placed him in. So, Nigel slaps Adam's ass again, the crack of skin on skin timed just right to cue in the piano solo. Adam giggles and corrects his position, the stinging on his skin bringing him great joy.

Nigel knows this album well, and he knows just how many measures there are before the bass solo comes in. He taps out the notes on the inside of Adam's inner, left thigh counting them down, and Adam, such a good boy, stays perfectly still in his position. Then, right on fucking cue, Nigel's tongue makes contact again with Adam's opening as the first deep pluck of the bass plays. Adam moans once more, but he does not alter his stance. Nigel licks him there in rhythm with the song, mentally noting to himself how fresh Adam tastes even in the thick humidity of the New York summer heat, bars passing by again and again as the whole band goes through the choruses, until Nigel starts sucking there, too, and Adam is so hard from this surprise rimming and the whole endeavor that he wonders to himself if he can even make it long enough without coming to actually get back onto the machine. Then, he hears Nigel spit onto his hand, and next thing he knows Nigel is rubbing at his entrance with his fingertip, and then he's plunging it into the tight warmth there causing a sharp, but short-lived, sting to spread out in that area. Adam grits his teeth.

Nigel does not remove his hand as he stands to drape himself over Adam's back. He begins slowly moving his finger in and out as he leans down to touch the side of Adam's head with his own. He breathes loudly into Adam's ear, "Does it feel good, baby?"

Adam nods.

Nigel smacks his left ass cheek with his unoccupied hand. "Use your words. Tell me how fucking good it feels, Adam."

Adam closes his eyes, he moans at the slap, and then answers, "It feels so good and strange and new, Nigel. Thank you. Thank you."

Nigel brings his hand up and turns Adam's jaw towards him, to kiss him deep in reward as he fingers him more quickly now. He later breaks the kiss to ask, "Would you like to add another one, sweet boy?"

Adam starts to nod, but remembers just in time to speak out, "Yes, Nigel. Please put another finger inside of me."

Nigel leans back to spit on Adam's ass and add more saliva, and then he slowly adds another finger before dipping forcefully the two of them in and out some more. Adam's eyes begin scrunching tight as he gets used to the added stretch, when Nigel suddenly rotates the fingers inside him, so that the heel of his palm is now facing the floor, and then he crooks them forward, towards Adam's bladder, to make rough contact with the almond-shaped pleasure nub seated neatly within, repeatedly.

Adam has never felt anything like this. It's fucking magical. He swears he sees little stars in the blackness of his closed eyes. "Oh my _fucking_ god, Nigel!!!!"

Nigel smiles wide at the unexpected expletive. "Picking up my naughty language habits now, are we gorgeous?" Adam looks back then to catch Nigel wink cheekily at him. He is just about to chuckle in response when Nigel rubs again at his prostate, as the song goes back to the same head it started out in. More stars shoot across the blackness of Adam's private sky and pleasure quickly crescendoes within him.

"Are you about to come, darling?"

Adam cannot even articulate verbally, he just groans repeatedly and nods his head briskly up and down.

The song ends.

Nigel pulls his fingers out fast. "Mmmmmm....not just yet, I think."

Immediately after feeling the absence of Nigel's wondrous digits, Adam takes one of his hands off of the sofa armrest rapidly to squeeze his dick with his forefinger and thumb, right where the head meets the shaft, to keep himself from coming all over Nigel's comely green loveseat. He does not want to stain the velvet with his cum and disappoint Nigel, although he briefly fantasizes about Nigel forcing him to clean it off with his tongue, a heavy foot placed on the back of his head while a deep, raspy laugh echoes out. He then feels like he's about to come again from the immensely sexy image, and curses himself for even mentally going there when he's already so close.

Nigel admires Adam's effort from behind, and waits a moment until Adam seems ready to continue. He goes over to the record player and picks the arm bar up to keep from proceeding to the next track. Adam turns around finally, to look at Nigel for his next instruction. Nigel stands with a lust-addled expression, holding the piece of the record player up with his right hand index finger hooked underneath it.

"Adam, go to the black container and retrieve the lubricant." Adam does so.

Nigel smirks and continues, "Now, you see the attachment there with the wavy lines etched in front and the long protrusion with the ball at the tip?" Adam locates it with his eyes. "Remove the piece already on the machine and replace it with that one."

Adam kneels next to the Sybian, puts down the lube bottle to free up his other hand, and gets to removing the piece that just has the raised nubs on it. "There's a white stem inside of the big one, Adam, make sure to put it firmly in place in the opened tip of the rotating part, then just wrap the lip of the front part onto the vibration end." Nigel directs, pointing to the various parts as he speaks. Adam follows the instructions to a T.

"Wait...I'm going to put this inside of me?" Adam says, pointing to the big end of the attachment sticking up.

Nigel chuckles, "Yes, Adam. It is going to go right where I just stretched you so nicely."

Adam blushes.

"Now please put an ample amount of lubricant on the tip and the shaft, and some on your opening for good measure."

Adam looks down at the bottle and uncaps it, before putting a great dollop into his palm. As he goes to put it where Nigel wants, Nigel calls out to him, "Gorgeous, look at me while you do it." Nigel's words stop Adam in his tracks, and a new wave of unyielding arousal washes over him.

Adam makes strong eye contact with his lusty conductor as he reaches his slick palm out to grasp at the phallic silicone piece. He unconsciously licks his lips as his hand moves up and down, and he can see a shiver run through the older man held in his gaze. He doesn't break eye contact as he grabs the bottle of lube again and adds another dollop to his fingertips. And then, it's his turn to shiver as he looks Nigel dead in the eye and goes to touch himself behind, placing a good amount of lube around and shallowly in his hole 'for good measure'. The sensation is cool and wet and slippery and excites his nerve endings just right and he can't help but flutter his eyes shut at this and Nigel mirrors his action in return.

Nigel and Adam open their eyes simultaneously then, and meet as Nigel continues speaking, "Now, straddle the device and slowly lower yourself onto the attachment." Nigel's free hand fists at his slacks near his hip in anticipation and he is relishing every moment of this new experience for Adam, unfolding before his eyes. And then Adam is sitting above the Sybian, legs trembling and hand reaching behind himself to feel and grab at the attachment, as he lines it up with his ass. He begins moving downward, deliberately letting the toy enter him. The sting is much stronger than Nigel's fingers, as the wider bulb at the tip pops in, causing him to shut his eyes. Nigel coos at him in reminder, "Darling...eyes please." Adam opens them to look at Nigel again, the shaft concurrently and more effortlessly sliding in. Adam allows himself to be penetrated fully, and a small groan exits his lips as he feels the piece go in as deep as it can.

"Now, Adam I'm going to leave the volume where it is and increase the vibration to seventy five percent. Also, I think we should add a bit of rotation of the attachment, don't you?"

"Okay, Nigel. But, please, sit with me again. I want to feel you touching me, too."

[Mingus Big Band 93 - Moanin'](http://picosong.com/DqXs)

"My pleasure, darling." And Nigel drops the arm bar onto the record, at about the last ten seconds of the previous track to give them some leeway to set up. Nigel gets in his previous position and grabs the controls, setting the vibration at seventy-five percent and the rotation at fifteen percent. The song ends again. Their eyes meet in the silence between tracks, Adam's breathing coming in heavy as he waits for everything to start, and then suddenly Cuber's baritone sax comes in trilling and shaking to pull off one of the greatest baritone sax solos and leads ever written, big band or otherwise. Nigel flips the switches to turn on both functions, and Adam nearly loses it as the machine moves in two ways simultaneously inside of him. He barely even registers the noise of the machine, even though there are now _two_ motors going, too involved in sexual stimulation to mind.

"Nnnggg....Ni...Nigel...." Adam sputters out, his hands reaching for purchase at his conductor's shoulders among the movement and the pleasure.

"Yes, baby?"

"It feels so, so....so good!" Adam moans and laughs, thoroughly enjoying himself.

The rest of the brass section comes in, setting the structure for the remaining choruses. The drummer is going at it really fast across the cymbals and the toms.

And then everything pauses for a beat, where Nigel timely slaps Adam hard across the face.

Everything continues wonderfully for a few measures before the alto sax goes in for its solo. Adam bites his bottom lip in ravishment, "Thank you, Nigel!" Nigel smiles and reaches down to palm at his own stiff erection to give it some lovely friction, the scene becoming all too hot for him to ignore.

The trumpet solos next, and Adam feels the piece rotating inside him, so sensitively, as it alternately makes shallow contact with his prostate gland. He closes his eyes and likens it in his mind to the dance of a trombone slide, moving rhythmically, shiny and beautiful.

Nigel reaches down, next, to open his fly and pull himself out. He takes some lube from the floor and slicks both his hands before taking them and wrapping them around Adam and then himself. Adam calls out his name again and again, moaning and panting, the fast, brassy bravado of the jazz piece stoking the flames of their ecstasy, as their hearts seem to pump in time with the music, as Nigel's expert grip surely does. The motors are nothing but white noise in the background.

"Dear Mr. Raki, do you know how fucking delicious you look right now?" Nigel asks as he leans forward to bite at Adam's moist lips. Adam is sweating, his brown curls pasted to the edges of his forehead like an erotic laurel crowning him the king of Nigel's heart, and his pupils are blown wide in arousal and his pretty chest heaves up and down in exerted pleasure.

Adam looks up to examine Nigel, equally drunk on sex, his greying locks draping over the signature smolder that burns even more intensely than usual as Nigel looks at him like he's the sexiest fucking thing to ever walk planet Earth. Adam's eyes take their time in following the tiny rivulets of sweat that wind and glisten through the carpet of hair gracing Nigel's chest, so manly that Adam wants to whine out loud. "You look really good, too, Nigel. I love seeing you touch yourself…and of course touching me, too…" Adam leans into Nigel's mouth while it's still close, and sucks on Nigel's upper lip hard, nipping at it as he pulls away.

"You look so fucking good, baby, I'm close, so close…." Nigel lets go of Adam for the time being and then stands up, jerking himself rougher up near Adam's face.

"Close your eyes." Nigel warns.

Adam closes his eyes and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue, eagerly predicting Nigel's intentions. Nigel sees this and comes totally undone, taking the opportunity to tap his dick against Adam's outstretched tongue. The added sensation of the slick warmth of his baby's tongue as the head of his dick makes rough contact is all he needs to begin coming in ribbons of white all over Adam's face and open mouth. Nigel let's out a low, pleased growl and chuckles a bit, enjoying the view of Adam's sweet visage covered in his seed.

He leaves it be, to gently humiliate his beloved drummer with that charming indignity, and sits back down to resume his caresses upon Adam's still very hard cock. Adam keeps his eyes closed, so as to avoid cum dripping into his eyes, and he just listens to the song as all the pieces of the ensemble come together to blast out the last notes of their raucous finale, and the bulb of the attachment inside him keeps rubbing in just the right way and Nigel's hand moves wonderfully along his shaft and then it's his turn to spray white ribbons, all along Nigel's hand and forearm and parts of the floor.

♪♬♭

Nigel shuts off the Sybian.

"Darling, don't move a muscle," Nigel says as he quickly goes to the container to retrieve one the small towels he prepared. He wipes at himself, first, then hastily returns to clean the ejaculate from Adam's face, and parts of his chest where it had dripped down during Adam's orgasm spasms. Now able to open his eyes, Adam looks at Nigel with a sated grin painted on his face, so Nigel, overcome with endearment, leans down to take Adam's face in his hands, and they kiss lightly, repeatedly, before the next track on the album comes on to startle them, and Nigel laughs as he hops over to the record player to shut it off, too. As Adam's body jolts, the attachment still inside of him rubs against his sensitized gland. He bites hard on his bottom lip.

"Ok, let's have an educational break, shall we?" Nigel sits down again on the small partner stool and grabs the length of rope he had brought in previously; "Have you ever been tied up with rope before?" Adam shakes his head no. "Have you ever tied anyone up?" Same response. Nigel runs a finger along Adam's chin. "Let me show you how I'm going to tie you, then." Adam smiles big, and a jolt of excitement runs through him.

Nigel brings up the eleven meters of dark purple rope and neatly uncoils it as he begins speaking, "Now, I'm not going to do anything particularly intricate, as I only require you to be restrained for a short period of time. For my aesthetic enjoyment yes, but trust me it will have other benefits which will be revealed to you, posthaste. Give me your hands." Adam offers both of his hands, closed in fists and facing upwards, like a prisoner giving up. Nigel takes the entire length and finds the midpoint, then grabs it and folds everything in half, keeping the created bight in his grasp, ready for use. "I'm just going to demonstrate the kind of knot I'll be placing on your wrists before I bind you completely across your chest. It's a beginner's knot, yet undoubtedly one of the single most useful knots one could know if they were so inclined to immobilize people habitually. I've yet to see this one collapse. And that's very important for keeping you at my mercy." Nigel's suggestion sends an erotic chill up Adam's spine.

Next, Nigel takes the bight and places it on the inner part of Adam's right wrist, before wrapping the doubled end around the delicate appendage twice. He then folds the bight over the two wraps at a right angle, and then pulls it underneath them from the opposite side with a hooked finger. "You see that gorgeous?" Adam nods. "That part of the knot keeps it from tightening down. No abrasions or bruises or rope burn on that impeccable skin of yours. No loss of circulation. It is safe and you won't be able to get out of it later…not without my help anyway…" Nigel's eyes briefly light up with devious delight at the implications of his statement.

"But...what if there is an emergency and I need to get out of the bind quickly?"

Nigel grabs his EMT safety shears and holds them up for Adam to see. "These will do the trick."

Adam is not only aroused by the lesson, but also put at ease. He loves that Nigel understands just how much he needs to see the process of what's going to be done to him in order to comprehend it and not to fear it. He watches then as Nigel effortlessly continues the tie, quickly looping the doubled free end, twisting it, and then running the bight through it. He runs the bight under the two wraps and through the loop again and pulls everything neatly shut. "This," and then Nigel hooks his finger into the right side of the bight sticking out, "I can pull on should I need to get you out quickly, too."

Adam admires the knot, finding it beautiful in it's simplicity and neatness. "I like it Nigel!" Adam beams.

Nigel smiles, and then goes about undoing the demonstrative knot. Adam attempts to kiss him while he does, but Nigel teasingly pulls back a little to dodge his advances. Adam smiles and keeps trying, spurned on by Nigel's teasing, but Nigel keeps turning his head just in time. Nigel removes the rope. Adam tries some more. Then, Nigel grabs a fistful of hair on the back of Adam's head, holding him in place, yet jostling Adam's body enough that he is reminded of the sizable silicone object still embedded in him, and he starts getting hard again already, and Nigel brings his face real close, so close that Adam can feel the warmth from his plush lips, but not close enough to touch. Nigel can feel the tension in Adam's neck as he tries to manoeuvre towards a kiss, and he smiles as he withholds. "I think I've been quite the benevolent kisser today, wouldn't you agree?" Adam tries to take advantage of Nigel speaking to steal a kiss, to no avail. "I say you should earn such rewards for the remainder of this session, hmm?"

Adam frowns and gives out an adorable 'hmph'.

Nigel stands, and with one hand, the rope in the other, picks up the stool to situate it behind Adam. He sits down so that the insides of his thighs sit snuggly either side of of Adam's hips and the machine itself, but he does not lean his chest toward Adam's back, no matter how much he longs to feel their skin warm and sweat slicked against each other.

"Let's see how we've progressed." With that, Nigel reaches forward to pick up the controls. "No music this time." He leaves it on the settings they previously worked with and flips the switches. The attachment begins rotating inside of Adam. The rest of his underside vibrates at seventy five percent intensity. Now that it's just the motors making noise, the humming becomes slightly unbearable again. Adam lets out a gutteral groan and lurches forward.

"Posture, darling," Nigel chides. He doesn't touch Adam.

Adam does his best to sit up as straight as possible. He gnashes his teeth and his eyes scrunch tightly closed. The noise is beginning to hurt again. Nigel senses this. He leans forward to murmur into Adam's ear reassuringly, "Darling, you've worked so hard today. Don't let it start getting to you again. It wasn't hurting earlier, right?" Adam shakes his head. "And how did you keep that from happening?"

"I...I...you were helping me...there was music..."

"Bullshit. It was all you, darling. It was you who was focusing on other ways to drown out the noise. You could have let it get to you, but you didn't. I'm so proud of you, Adam. I believe you can do it again. Not only this time. But from now on, whenever the rabble of the mechanical world tries to get at you. You won't let it. Because you are so fucking capable and strong."

Adam is bolstered by Nigel's words. He starts breathing in and out to calm his mind and he begins trying to think of nothing. Even though the machine is moving so nicely within him, he can't feel good about it just yet, especially since he is still leaning a bit forward. This angle keeps the attachment from truly making contact with his g-spot.

Moment by moment he feels himself moving further away from the grating sound of the motors, until he successfully relegates them once more to the white noise behind his current physical sensations. His breathing evens out. His back straightens up fully. His jaw relaxes and his eyes open again. Nigel smiles beneath long bangs. He wraps his arms around Adam's midsection and begins giving pleasant, tender kisses all along Adam's shoulders and then his neck. "Very good, Mr. Raki."

"Put your hands behind your back. Make sure the insides of your wrists are facing each other."

After Adam puts his hands the way Nigel wants them, the expert conductor quickly binds them in the single column tie he demonstrated to Adam just minutes before. He brings the rope back up to just a few inches below the shoulders to wind around to the front of Adam's chest, caressing the skin there with the rope itself as he does so, and then around to the back again. He does it slowly, with his nose nudging devotedly behind Adam's ear, breathing in his scent, and Adam feels cherished and safe, and also so vulnerable already, and he closes his eyes to absorb the sensations and the emotional connection that Nigel has already begun to build up more and more through his actions.

Nigel winds the rope under the column he had made earlier and goes back around the front, with a sudden, sharp tug that jostles Adam out of his loose position, to create the second wrap. The rope stays in place. Adam can already feel the strong yet comfortable tension threatening to immobilize him completely. He brings it round again to wrap under the column, going the opposite way, and the tension balances out wonderfully. He leans back a bit, away from Adam's neck, to focus on wrapping the working end of the rope around the column in a series of up and over motions until he's created a very symmetrical and stable friction that he yanks into place forcefully. It makes Adam feel thoroughly manhandled, and his dick begins dripping with moisture, even though he's come twice already this evening.

He leans his chest fully against Adam's back, then. They both relish in the restored contact between their skin and breath in and out steadily to try and calm the building erotic forces resulting from the tying and the power exchange and the closeness. Nigel continues next to pull the rope between Adam's arm and chest, beneath the bands he had made, with a thumb in place to keep Adam's skin away from the sliding fibers, to make a nice cinch. He repeats it on the other side. Adam tilts his head all the way back now, onto Nigel's shoulder, fully submitting to the binding, and Nigel repeats all his previous ministrations to create a second band under the chest, slowly, sensually, emotionally, until there are symmetrical cinches and frictions in place, and a pretty chest harness has been completed.

Adam has decent upper body strength, thanks to his everyday drumming, and he flexes a bit against the bindings to test their hold. They do not yield. He truly feels at Nigel's mercy now, and he moans out loud from the thought of it.

Nigel stands up with the remaining length of rope in hand. He bends over and tilts Adam's head back to kiss him deep in reward for the delicious moan, before shoving his head forward dispassionately, nearly knocking him off balance on top of the Sybian.

Now, Nigel goes to the hanging potted plant suspended from the ceiling and unhooks it. He places it on the floor. Then, he stands on the armrest of the loveseat to get closer to the now empty eyebolt drilled into the beam above, and he threads the free ends of the rope through it in order to create a makeshift pulley with which he can create tension and manipulate Adam's upper body position into any angle he sees fit. He goes back down and over to the Sybian, to grab the controls and place in Adam's hands. Then he goes back toward the wall, rope in hand and ready to play.

"Now, dear Adam, we may truly begin."

Adam looks back at him warily, and then down at the controls in his possession.

"Turn the vibration up to one hundred percent."

Adam thinks the level of vibration is adequate enough. He feels himself get a little worried about the motor getting louder. He doesn't look at him as he questions, "But....but, Nigel..."

"Tisk, tisk, Mr. Raki. Didn't I task you with complying with my instructions? Down to every last fucking syllable?"

"I know but..."

Nigel drops the rope to hang from the ceiling. He goes over to the black container and gets out the two nipple clamps. Adam sees them and freezes. Nigel looks Adam right in the fucking eyes as he goes to punish him. "Don't," Nigel places one on Adam's left nipple – the sting is immediate, "do that," now the right side – stinging stronger, "again." Adam jumps from the pain each time. "If it's too much, tell me your word." Adam shakes his head in enthusiastic disagreement. He smiles and keeps his lips clamped shut. Nigel can hardly bear how exquisite it looks, the now tormented nipples framed perfectly in dark purple binds, and his dick aches in his pants.

He returns to his post at the hanging rope. "One hundred percent, Mr. Raki." Adam complies and moans loud enough for the entire building to hear as the machine quakes beneath him. The machine vibrates vociferously against the carpeted floor. If his neighbors weren't pissed off earlier at the continuous humming motor sounds and loud bebop jazz, they surely must be now that it sounds like Nigel is carrying out either an excruciatingly clumsy murder and body disposal, or the freakiest home renovations ever, at this now very unreasonable hour of the evening.

Nigel suddenly tugs on the rope attached to Adam's chest harness, forcing his body back at a forty-five degree angle, and the rotating piece inside of him is now rubbing deep into his prostate regardless of its position. "Nigel!" Adam screams. And then he moans so continuously that it seems like one long, sustained note.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, Niiiiigel!!!!"

And then, there is a loud, violent knocking at the door.

"Shit," Nigel curses. He ties the rope off hastily on one of the legs of the coffee table, and as he passes by Adam and the remote control, he cruelly cranks the dial of the rotation as much as he can and rips off the nipple clamps (causing Adam to hiss and then laugh, thinking of how much more it sucked to have them removed than when they were put on), before continuing to the door. Adam has no choice but to just try to stay alive as the machine assaults his prostate. He screams some more.

Nigel rips the door open, the whole bat-shit-crazy scene in full view of the hallway. He expects to find someone around his height there, but when he stares into empty space, he moves his eyes downward to find nice old Mrs. Wheeler from two doors down, the octogenarian in cat-eye glasses who lives with five lovely tabbies, glaring into his face. Her glare is stolen to shoot over at Adam on the Sybian, tied to the ceiling, stradling a shaking sex machine, body glistening in sex sweat, beautiful cock rock hard and bouncing from his jerky body movements, and nipples and face red from physical punishment, as he screams out, "Nigel, I can't wait!!!! It's too much!!!! I'm going to come!!!!" She looks back at Nigel.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Wheeler?" Nigel asks with a smile. And then he doesn't break eye contact with her as he calls out to Adam, "Go on right ahead, darling! I won't be but just a moment."

Mrs. Wheeler's jaw drops open. Then she speaks in a voice quivering with anger and shock, "You have always been a decent neighbor, Nigel. But this is...this is...I have no words!"

Nigel takes her tiny little old lady hand in his gingerly, "As you heard, Mrs. Wheeler, he's about to finish. We'll be done in just two shakes. I sincerely apologize for the noise, but I have to go now." He releases her hand and slams the door shut in her face. He then races back over to Adam, who is convulsing in a pleasure seizure all over the Sybian, held only in place by the rope secured to the ceiling, which, thank god, because he might just have ended up ricocheting around the room like an animated character otherwise, and Nigel rips the controls out of his almost orgasmically catatonic drummer's hands and quickly shuts the machine off. Adam comes like a dancing fountain, high up into the air.

Adam hunches forward then, drool dripping from his mouth.

"Gorgeous! Gorgeous!" Nigel calls out as he frantically unties the knots at Adam's back. "Are you alright? Speak to me!"

Adam turns his neck to slowly look back at him and says, "Holy fuck, Nigel. Holy. Fuck."


	14. Obbligato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You better have a talk with him. In plain, simple terms. Make it clear what he means to you and what you mean to him. And then y'all better construct a fool-proof plan on how to keep from being discovered, for both y'all's sake. He's got less to lose than you. Sure, his reputation may never be recovered, but I bet he's got savings and his home and car are all paid off and he can get another teaching gig anywhere. What you got? You've got a pile of student loans, the last of your dad's mortgage, and no degree yet to back you up. You have to be as smart as I know you are. Logic may be cold, but love won't feed you. And it sure as hell won't make you the best goddamn jazz drummer you deserve to be after all these years of hard work. If nothing else matters, that must Adam. That has been a constant driving force in your life. Don't let it go for nobody." - Harlan Keyes

 

 

_In classical music 'obbligato' usually describes a musical line that is in some way indispensable in a performance. It can also be used, more specifically, to indicate that a passage of music was to be played exactly as written, or only by the specified instrument, without changes or omissions._

 

SUMMER, 2016.

 

Central Park acts like a giant set of lungs for the city, providing much needed fresh air and an idyllic, cool escape from the insanity of the clutter of concrete buildings and the blistering heat of the sun beat asphalt streets. Adam has found a nice place just north of Sheep Meadow, on a clean bench tucked away into a little wooded nook, where he waits for Harlan and their planned lunch-date-slash-routine-catch-up. The park is a good nine degrees Fahrenheit cooler than the areas outside it, and Adam smiles in relief as he dabs at his glistening forehead, made to sweat on his walk in.

A slight breeze blows through the meandering path leading up to his chosen spot, inspiring the trees to dance lazily as it passes. The light among their shadows move on the path, drawing Adam's gaze upward to watch the filaments of blonde rays fall through lush branches, thick and green with summer growth, like stray tendrils of wispy hair run through a fine comb. A brief image of Nigel's face, eyes obscured by straw and pepper bangs, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and wrinkling the skin around his eyes, is conjured in Adam's mind. Suddenly, a heavy feeling mounts in his chest, and then all at once it feels as though his heart has taken on a life of its own as it tries to leap out of his ribcage. He clutches at the white linen of his shirt to keep it from getting away.

His eyebrows draw together in joyful confusion. How curious it is that the simple, ephemeral twinkling of light through the trees on a hot summer day should stir such strong feelings in him. He feels himself fall deeper in love as the image of Nigel's face burns itself into his vision again and again, like the skipping of the record player needle at the best part of a song on a beloved LP. Nigel is not even with him, and yet he is suddenly inclined to love him more and more, just by thinking about him.

Adam and Nigel. Nigel and Adam. Each one's flowering affection for the other is now becoming so strong that it seems to overflow from the soles of their feet, down to the very soil of the city, to take root and grow and spread out to wherever it found the other while they were apart.

Adam's phone rings.

"Hello?" Adam answers softly, still under the dreamy spell of emotions the light has cast on him.

"I'm on the north side of Sheep Meadow. Where ya at, Adam?" Harlan's voice is soothing and familiar, and puts Adam in an even better mood.

"I am on a bench down the wooden path, about fifty yards from the main trail there."

"Okay, see you in a minute."

♪♬♭

Meanwhile, somewhere in Manhattan, raucous, vulgar Romanian can be heard spilling from an open window. "Sugi pula! _Suck my dick!_ "

"No, no, no! I'm serious! This trombonist is sitting there crying and pissing himself simul-fucking-taneously! First fucking rehearsal of the semester! The room still reeks of it! Fucking alternates...I keep leaving the door open to air it out but..." Nigel gestures wildly with his hands as he recounts this anecdote from their first week back since the fall semester began. With that, Darko gives a huge, hard slap to Nigel's shoulder, and they leap into a roarous laughter.

Nigel pours them both another drink; the pale yellow Tămâioasă sloshes into the shallow but wide lipped wine glasses Nigel had kept ever since his mother passed away. They are etched with delicate little dog-roses, her favorite flower. Nigel rubs his fingertips on them, feeling the difference in textures as he looks into the grain of the small wood kitchen table. Darko holds up his glass, and Nigel clinks his to it in return, "Salut!" Both men knock the sweet liquid back, a cherished dessert wine from their homeland, after such a nice, filling home cooked lunch. Nigel loves to make his Romanian favorites. He's been having far too much bloody macaroni and cheese as of late.

"You've got to stop terrorizing them as soon as they step in the door, you fuckhead!" Darko intones in his usual manner of speaking. He then reaches into the right inner pocket of his sports coat and pulls out a soft pack of Viceroys, tapping two sticks out. He takes one in his mouth directly from the packet and then offers the other to Nigel before lighting them both up. "Someone is going to file a complaint about you eventually. Tenure can only take you so far."

Nigel waves him off. "The institute is well aware of my methods. They enjoy the results far too much to fuck with what I do...but I suppose I should tone it down a bit, huh? Lest more boys come stinking up my room with their incontinence." He takes a big drag off of the Romanian cigarettes, savoring the familiar flavor. Darko gets them from a special store downtown. Nigel can't be bothered. He just bums some whenever he can from Darko.

The mention of 'boys' brings thoughts of his own, much more pleasant boy, the only one whose body fluids he actually wants anything to do with, and certainly not of the piss-and-shit variety...no, he quickly thinks of Adam sweating. Drooling. Coming. A shiver shoots down his spine. He smiles. Darko notices.

"Okay, tell me who it is."

Nigel is jolted out of his private revelry. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"You've been extremely...'daydreamy' lately. Smiling to yourself. Off in your own world. Like a schoolgirl doodling hearts in a notebook at your desk, you've been. I've seen it. Just spill already."

Nigel blushes. Both men become uncomfortable. Nigel is not a man to fucking blush. Darko knows this. Nigel tries to recover, "Shut the fuck up asshole. Fu-tu-ti sicriu' ma-tii! _Fuck your mother's coffin!_ " But he's already revealed too much.

"Nigel...come on...it's me, man." They meet eyes. They have been like brothers for many years, bonded over the shared experience of being Romanian immigrants trying to make it in the cut throat world of professional jazz musicians in New York.

Nigel plays with the base of his empty wine glass and gestures for Darko to top him off. "There _is_ someone..." He keeps looking down at the table.

"I knew it! Who is she? Tell me all about it!" Darko enthusiastically pours them another drink. They toast with a more subdued 'Salut,' this time.

Nigel doesn't say anything.

Darko can read him like a fucking chart. He continues as Nigel remains silent. "They're not a 'she'…"

Nigel turns to look at him pleadingly, eyes begging for understanding from the only person like family left to him, besides Adam that is.

"Hey, hey, that doesn't bother me, you piece of shit! It's fucking 2016! We're not in Romania anymore! You can fuck whoever you want. I'm just happy you're happy." Darko takes his hand and places it endearingly rough on the back of Nigel's neck, bringing him downward and over to knock their heads together. "Although, I think I'm gonna stop telling you to suck my dick, if that's alright with you!"

Nigel lets out a nervous, but thankful laugh, "I wouldn't touch your dick with a ten-foot-fucking-pole, asshole. I've been around long enough to know the many places it's been. You need to raise your fucking standards, mate."

Darko pours another round, and raises his eyes to the ceiling to try and think of who it could be that has unlocked Nigel's guarded heart.

♪♬♭

Adam and Harlan chuckle on their bench, just wrapped up from a lively chat about some things that have gone on since they last saw each other. Adam with a tupperware full of warm mac n'cheese, Harlan with a ham and cheese sandwich. They look forward and watch birds flit from branch to branch among the elms.

Finally, after having gone through all the niceties of catching up, Harlan heaves out a big sigh. "Adam, don't you think it's about time you tell me what's goin' on with you and that band instructor?"

Adam looks at the concrete. "What do you mean, exactly?"

Harlan gets a little frustrated. "I mean...he slept over at your house the last thing I heard. Are you guys in a relationship? Or have you listened to reason and kept things strictly professional, like you were supposed to do?"

Adam does not sense Harlan's frustration immediately. He is in excellent spirits and riding the natural high of romance. "We are dating. Exclusively," Adam says as he grins dreamily.

Harlan sets his sandwich down into the lunchbox next to him on the bench. "Adam...you have to stop this. It will endanger everything you've worked so hard for. I don't think you understand just how precarious that whole arrangement is...for the both of you."

Adam's head jerks over to face Harlan. It is pained with confusion. "I know you don't approve Harlan. And I know why but...but...you shouldn't just tell me to 'stop'. I love him, Harlan. I assure you I would not be engaging in such a risky relationship, otherwise."

Harlan feels a strong pang of something in his gut. He had longed to hear of the day when Adam finally fell in love. Was loved in returned. He knew what a hard time Adam had had all his life in making strong connections with others. He just wanted Adam to be happy. He was the son he always wanted but never had. He just wanted him happy...and most of all safe. But not like this.

"Does he reciprocate your affections, Adam?"

Adam looks at the light filtering through the branches again. "He hasn't explicitly said so...neither have I...but I can feel it. I have been studying his body language quite intently. Also the way he treats me...There's no mistaking it."

"You better have a talk with him. In plain, simple terms. Make it clear what he means to you and what you mean to him. And then y'all better construct a fool-proof plan on how to keep from being discovered, for both y'all's sake. He's got less to lose than you. Sure, his reputation may never be recovered, but I bet he's got savings and his home and car are all paid off and he can get another teaching gig anywhere. What you got? You've got a pile of student loans, the last of your dad's mortgage, and no degree yet to back you up. You have to be as smart as I know you are. Logic may be cold, but love won't feed you. And it sure as hell won't make you the best goddamn jazz drummer you deserve to be after all these years of hard work. If nothing else matters, that must Adam. That has been a constant driving force in your life. Don't let it go for nobody."

Adam just keeps looking at the light in the trees. He thinks about what Harlan has said.

Harlan starts to bring his unfinished sandwich up to his mouth to take a bite out of when a thought intrudes at the forefront of his mind, "And how old is this Nigel anyway?!"

"Forty-three."

Harlan shakes his head and closes his eyes and begins muttering a string of expletives and dirty names like 'cradle-robber', before taking a big bite of his sandwich, that seems to turn to mud in his mouth.

♪♬♭

Darko now sits halfways on top of the table. His elbows are parked on top with his hands grasping at the roots of his hair, ready to pull it all out if he doesn't guess who it is and fucking soon.

"That judge who wouldn't stop hitting on you last time at Dunellen?"

"No."

"The frisky bartender over at Dizzy's?"

"No."

"The fruit who lives two floors down from you? Always eye fucking you in the elevator?"

"No."

"Wait...could they be at Shaffer?" Darko's eyebrows raise nearly to off the top of his head in realization. "You're always at work anyway, when would you have the chance to meet anyone else...Oh my god, don't tell me you're fucking someone at work?"

Nigel is silent. He tries to stifle a smile.

Darko sits up straight and looks Nigel deep in his face, shaking his right index finger aggressively before making stabby motions with it in Nigel's general direction. "Don't shit where you eat, Nigel! Everyone with a brain knows this, Nigel!"

Darko thinks and thinks. Who could it be? His eyebrows raise exaggeratedly again. "Wait a minute, we are the only sexy mother fuckers at that entire institution! There's no way you'd drop trou for any of those other ugly old geezers....no, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no_ , Nigel. DO. NOT. TELL. ME. YOU. ARE. FUCKING. A STUDENT."

Nigel buries his head between his legs and bursts into a big bout of laughter. "I'm absolutely depraved! I know!"

Darko begins babbling Eastern Orthodox prayers nonstop in unintelligible Romanian.

"We are not just fucking, Darko...I'm crazy about him."

Darko makes the Eastern Orthodox sign of the cross.

Nigel talks from under the table and between his legs. "Crazy about fucking him, too."

Darko's eyes go real wide. He cannot believe the fucking audacity of his friend. More prayers. Then, "Don't tell me...the pretty first year...what's his name...Raki, right? You came and took him out of Nassau..."

Darko sees Nigel's form still.

He gets up and runs over to smack Nigel repeatedly on the back of the head. "Bagate-as in mormant! Curule! _May I put you in a grave! You ass!_ What is he like, twenty?!"

"Nineteen. Turning twenty next month."

"You dirty old fuck!!!" Darko continues cursing as he pushes Nigel to the floor with a kick to the ribs.

Nigel gets up quick and points his finger accusingly at Darko, "You're one to talk! What about that waitress you were screwing? Has she gotten her braces off yet, by the way?"

"At least she GRADUATED college! Adults can get braces, too!" Darko leaps at him to put him in a headlock, and they begin roughhousing like teenage boys, rolling around the kitchen floor, smacking each other in the face, and its not long before they are out of breath and feeling like old men.

They recoup on the carpet with their backs against the edge of the loveseat in the living room. Darko pulls out more Viceroys. Nigel lights them up.

"Does he love you, too?" Darko inhales deep from the orange filter.

"Yes, I believe he does. We're good together, really." More smiles.

"I don't need to warn you to be careful, friend. You've worked hard to build your career. Shaffer needs you, but I doubt they can protect you from a scandal like that..."

Nigel closes his eyes. "No sense to love. I've just got to be as cautious as possible from here on out. Hopefully I'm up for the task..."

The smoke from their filters rises up to the ceiling. And everything is up in the air.

♪♬♭

Adam and Harlan parted ways at the bench, the older man departing first, wishing Adam well, but with worry still carved deep into the features of his face. Adam had tried to convince him that they were going to be very careful. That he loved not only Nigel, but also his prospective career in music, enough to do anything it would take to preserve them both. Harlan knew Adam believed that, but the problem lay not in Adam's conviction, it lay in Adam's inability to take human factors into account.

Adam didn't always know people. He didn't know to what lengths people were willing to go, driven by fear or jealousy or even twisted forms of good intentions and well-meaningness, to remove perceived 'social blights', such as their own. And it would be people who would surely be at the root of their downfall, should it occur. Always was. No amount of caution on his or his older lover's part could surmount the overwhelmingly cruel and often intrusive nature of people. Harlan did not know how to get this into Adam's skull. It defied logic.

After spending a few more minutes admiring the birds and the trees, Adam packed up his stuff and walked out of the wooded nook. As he approached the path that wound around Sheep Meadow and would lead him home, someone called out to him.

"Hey, Adam!" Adam immediately recognizes the voice. Charlie. Fucking. Countryman.

He looks over to see the loathed upperclassman on a picnic blanket. Next to him, are seated his girlfriend, Gabi, and the other Studio Band alternate drummer (formerly core), Luc. He waves at them, but continues walking. Charlie pops up and races over to in front of Adam, blocking his escape. He puts a hand on Adam's arm. Adam tenses up. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why don't you come over and have a picnic with us?"

"I've eaten already." Adam holds up his lunch bag and avoids Charlie's eyes.

"Well, we're not exactly eating..." Charlie gestures over to his girlfriend and the other drummer back at their spot. Adam looks. Gabi holds up a bottle of cheap wine and wobbles it around. Adam watches the dark liquid slosh around in its glass container. The last thing Adam wants to do now is drink low quality alcohol with people he barely knows and can barely stand.

"No, thank you." And then Adam points his head down and determinedly marches forward.

Charlie bounds in front of him again and clasps his hand around Adam's forearm, "Come on, man. We drummers ought to socialize. Stick together." Adam is starting to get really angry that Charlie keeps making unwarranted physical contact.

"It's rude to touch people without their permission, Charlie," Adam grits out as he makes direct eye contact.

Charlie chuckles, oblivious to how incensed Adam actually is. "Yeah, you don't like being touched do you?" More chuckles. Then he rubs his chin in contemplation. "I tell you what, even though I am a touchy-feely kind of guy and I can't always control where my hands go, I promise to never touch you again without your permission if you come and hang out for a while with us."

Finally! An end to Charlie's insufferable touching! Adam grins and asks, "For how long?"

Charlie throws his hands up in the air. "I don't fucken know man! Just come chill."

Adam frowns and starts walking again.

Charlie shouts, "Okay! Okay! ...Thirty minutes, at least."

Adam turns to face him, "Thirty minutes, precisely."

"Deal!"

They both walk back toward the picnic blanket, side by side, before sitting down to join the others. Adam sets his lunch bag behind himself as he pulls out his phone and sets its timer to thirty minutes. He starts it before laying it next to his folded legs and then looks to smile at the men and woman, who watch with barely disguised bewilderment. Wanting to dispel the awkwardness, Gabi extends the wine bottle to him, which he declines with an outstretched palm. After his refusal, Luc grabs it harshly and takes a big swig straight from the mouth of the container while gazing at Adam, who is also watching on. Luc's eyebrows are furrowed with a familiar dislike, often expressed at Adam, especially ever since the Folder Incident. It is obvious that Luc is also already quite drunk. His cheeks burn bright red and his eyes have a sort of glassy, unfocused look to them. Luc hands the bottle to Charlie, who takes a swig next.

Gabi attempts to lighten the mood by breaking the ice. "So, it's Adam, right?" Adam nods. "Did you go anywhere for the summer break?"

"No."

She nods her head while looking downward, the corners of her mouth pulled into a poor facsimile of a smile. Then she tries to get more out of him. "Yeah, me too...Well, what did you do while you were at home all those weeks?"

"I mostly practiced and cleaned the apartment and...oh, and I acquired some new orreries for my collection! Beautiful specimens. Both antique. A little bit damaged, but I enjoy restoring them anyway." Adam is feeling slightly devious as he deliberately leaves out all mention of the delicious days and nights spent in his beloved band leader's company, and also happy at thinking of the latest additions he'd made to his shiny hobby room.

"What's an orrery?" Gabi takes a big gulp of wine.

Adam makes no hesitation in informing her. From the time that he begins, his eyes take on a certain brightness that only intensifies as each syllable is uttered. "Named after the Fifth Earl of Orrery, it is a small mechanical model of our solar system that represents the relative positions and movements of the planets and their moons around the sun. There are many types, but I collect modern versions that move via precisely calculated gear trains, you know, like in a clock, either electrically powered or manually, with relatively scaled representations of the planets situated on metal arms attached to a series of coaxial tubes in the center." Adam makes circular motions with his hands to sort of imitate the movements. "Some of the more intricate pieces even have the planets and moons rotating individually as they circle the sun. They can be made of brass and ceramic or wood and glass. They are often quite pretty and fascinating to watch in motion. Like a ballet of celestial bodies in a never ending dance…" Adam trails off not because he fears that he is boring his present company, which one may think if they were to analyze his male counterparts, but wouldn't even imagine if they were to look only at Gabi, entranced by Adam's childlike wonder and the beauty his words depicted, no, instead he slowly ceases talking because of the overwhelming awe he feels for these small devices that bewitch him so, and he pictures himself sitting at his desk mid afternoon, turning them round and round as the sun hits them just right. They glean as they dance around a tiny sun. He suddenly wishes to be at home so intensely, to touch and tinker with them. He looks down at his phone's timer. Barely a few minutes has passed; his face abruptly changes to sullen and he lets out a little puff of air.

Everyone is quiet for a bit, looking at the ground and occasionally picking at blades of grass. Gabi continues her efforts. "Well, that sounds lovely, Adam. Do you have any photos? I still can't quite picture it." Adam smiles again and picks up his phone. He unlocks it and opens the gallery and scrolls through to the photos he wants to find. He extends his arm and angles the screen so Gabi can see well, then he starts going through the photos slowly. He describes them: where he got them, what he had to do to get them in their current condition. Gabi finds them very pretty, and eagerly listens as Adam carries on. At one point, Luc slips in behind them, and watches along. His expression suggests that it is not out of a natural curiosity. Something more sinister lies beneath.

The last photos Adam shows are of his prize piece and the latest addition to his collection: an 1880 J. Felk and Son tellurion orrery. It shows the Earth and the Moon and how they move around the Sun, represented by an oil lamp in the center, meant to be lit in a dark room. He had had it shipped all the way from Italy, and was very happy to have received it all in one piece.

The tiny Earth is wonderfully aged and colored shades of sepias and reds and greens. All the meridians and seas and continents are labelled in fancy Italian print. So, understandably, Gabi gets real excited to see more and abruptly grabs the phone from Adam and begins haphazardly swiping through all the photos of it until they stop and start becoming photos of him and Nigel, arms draped over each others' shoulders and faces smashed together to fit into a selfie. Adam grabs the phone back, hoping he's done so in time for the other men to have not seen it. _How could he be so careless! And so soon after swearing to Harlan that he'd be cautious!_ He looks around to see where the both of them are. Luc and Charlie, he sees, are just behind, talking to each other about not wanting to go to class the following day, and looking out aimlessly over the field of Sunday recreationers having picnics, walking their dogs, and playing frisbee. _Phew!_

"Who was that?" Gabi whispers and smirks. "He's handsome...and familiar somehow..."

Adam locks eyes with her. There's no way she doesn't know **the** most recognizable face at Shaffer. Yeah, she is in the strings program, which Nigel has nothing to do with, but Shaffer is undeniably known for its Jazz program, which is advertised all over town in various magazines and newspapers, Nigel's face featuring prominently in all the print ads and brochures. It makes sense, seeing as how he is probably one of the most talented and prestigious and, let's not forget, most attractive people in the Northeastern United States, if not the whole continent, as far as Adam is concerned. When he walks through the halls, people whisper about him after moving out of his way. Her boyfriend is in his Jazz ensemble...There's no way she doesn't know...

Adam searches her face to see where she will go with this...he can't tell...she's just smiling and he's sitting there like a deer in headlights, and she's just unreadable. _Say something more, dammit! What do you know!? What will you do!?_

Gabi leans in to whisper in his ear, extending just her pinky finger, and says, "Don't worry, Adam. It will be our little secret." Adam feels a huge wave of relief wash over him. He studies her pinky. She takes his and entwines it with her own to seal their pact of secrecy. Adam is very thankful that it was only Gabi that had seen those photos and not one of the other guys. He makes a mental note to move the files to a secure folder in his phone that would require a special lock pattern to access them.

♪♬♭

It's Monday afternoon. As Adam walks nearer, the sound of drumming can be heard echoing out into the hallway from the Studio Band room door, slightly ajar. Adam goes up to it and pushes it the rest of the way open, to find Luc seated at the kit, white shirt sweat-marked, eyes zeroed in on his single stroke roll, zombie-like.

Then they make eye contact, but say nothing.  
All that can be heard is the sound of Luc's drumming, gradually increasing in tempo.  
It gets faster and faster.  
Their eye contact becomes more intense.  
Tension fills the space.

Abruptly, the rest of the band begins trickling in and taking their places. Luc stops playing and moves to the alternate's seat, next to the other alternate, Charlie. Adam takes the core. He sits there and stims with his drumsticks, his eyes clamped shut. The room is filled with the familiar sounds of tuning and chatting and the preparation of papers on music stands. Charlie wears an expression of concern, and just when he seems like he's gonna ask the other two guys what's going on, Nigel comes in ready to start rehearsals for the day.

Nigel has been happy to return to his domain after several weeks away during the summer break. He has been happy to return to the routine that means that he gets to see his gorgeous core daily, and that they will continue to do their work in each other's company, striving for excellence and stealing longing glances when they can, correcting Adam's behavior when necessary afterwards, and finding moments in the evenings and mornings to be a normal couple away from all of this whenever possible. Nigel smiles and hums a bit as he takes off his blazer and hangs it on the rack. He walks back to the conductor's stand and begins leafing through the folder's contents.

Suddenly, Luc stands up and walks over to Nigel, turning his head as he does so to look back at Adam, as if daring him to do something about it. Adam closes his eyes again and starts subtly rocking back and forth. The rest of the band watches astonished from their seats, like pedestrians witnessing a bad car crash. Charlie just looks worried. He wants to call his foolish friend back.

"Excuse me, Nigel." Although Luc was filled with angry determination just a moment earlier, being this close to the intimidating conductor has made it waver somewhat. His voice quivers as he continues, "Before we start today, I'd like to have a word with you in your office."

Nigel's nostrils flare. "Surely, there is better timing than this, Luc." This is Nigel giving him an out. Luc will not take it. He shakes his head. And then Nigel pushes past him, knocking their shoulders together almost violently, before continuing into his office. Luc follows him in to stand like a soldier at attention in front of Nigel's big cherry wood desk a moment before continuing to speak.

"I think Raki should be here for this, too."

Nigel raises an eyebrow as he stands behind his desk. His hands are closed in ready fists, knuckles pressed firmly against the wood grain. "You do, do you?"

Nigel accedes with a terse nod. Luc calls out to Adam, who quickly comes in and shuts the door behind himself. He stands just off to the right side of Luc. He will not look either man in the face. His sticks are in his pocket and he is rubbing them.

After no one speaks for a few moments, Nigel bursts out, "Luc, the clock is ticking on my benevolence."

Luc gulps hard, as though his throat were suddenly too dry to accomplish it. "I want to challenge for the core seat."

Nigel swiftly let's out a roarous laugh. Not good. "That's fucking rich!" More violent laughter. Then, "As you are aware, school policy dictates that any challenges for seating is to be done _before_ the semester begins. Anytime after is at my fucking discretion. Now, unless I've got my dates all mixed up, you're shit out of luck in that regard. The matter is closed."

"You change seating all the time during the semester...and we haven't even really started yet..." Nigel stares daggers at the presumptuous senior. Luc shrivels where he stands.

Adam looks at Nigel and speaks small. "...I don't mind, Nigel...really."

Nigel's face immediately dissolves to tenderness as he speaks soothingly to Adam. "Adam, he's got no right. That's your seat."

Luc's expression suddenly shifts to anger, which emboldens him to speak even more unwisely, "I think you've got a soft spot for Raki, Nigel. You just gave him that seat unwarranted and to punish me for the Folder Incident and now you won't even question if he really belongs there or not. One has got to wonder if it's just because he's so pretty or-" Nigel bounds around the desk so fast it stuns both drummers, and suddenly he's centimeters away from Luc's face, seething like a rabid dog, breath hot and furiously going in and out between grit teeth. Luc briefly considers pissing himself.

"I could fucking drop you like," BIG SNAP, "that, you little shit maggot! How dare you make insinuations that you can't back the fuck up..."

Adam comes closer and gently places his hand on Nigel's left shoulder, "Please, Nigel. Just let it happen. Let's not waste any more rehearsal time..."

Nigel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, he buries his fist deep into the fabric of Luc's shirt collar and tugs him violently out of the office, slamming the door into his office wall as he exits and nearly off the hinges, before shoving him over to and down on the drummer's thrown. He goes to stand in front of the set, where he settles his face into something stony yet mocking. "You get your challenge, Luc, but, if you don't make it to core, you're out." Charlie goes to grab at his shoulder, to talk him out of it, but Luc just shrugs him off without taking the time to peer at Charlie's concerned expression. Luc nods at Nigel. The rest of the band grasps their instruments tightly, steeling themselves to watch what's about to go down. Adam stays out of sight at Nigel's office doorway, stimming with his drum sticks, as he waits for what he knows is to come. Nigel wears his fury like horse blinkers and fails to notice how unsurprised Adam is at what is transpiring. Luc gets his sticks ready and positions his hands above the kit.

"Rudiments, as I say and on my count," Nigel says, his voice deceivingly calm. Nigel lifts his right hand up to cue, "Open roll," and then his hand goes down. Luc jumps right into it. His timing and execution are perfect. He starts out slow and then increases the strokes until he is at a dizzying pace. Nigel calls out, "Drag paradiddle." Luc shifts to the second rudiment, right on time, his execution this time just as good. Then Nigel calls out again, "Double drag tap," it's the same result. Nigel takes his time then to listen well and begins pacing back and forth in front of the drum set. They go through six more rudiments; Luc performs well on all of them. When he finishes the last, Nigel waves him off and calls Adam over to do his turn. Charlie gives Luc's shoulder a congratulatory slap, obviously convinced that Luc's got the core seat in the bag.

Adam comes and sits in the drummer's throne. Nigel keeps his back to him as he speaks, "Raki. Same rudiments. Same order. Anytime you're ready." He does not cue Adam or count him down. He closes his eyes to listen.

Adam begins alright through the first two, he is on time and performs them for the exact same amount of beats as did Luc, but then, at the double drag tap, as he starts speeding it up, his rhythm gets shakier and shakier, until he is outright fucking it up...he stops. Nigel turns round to look at him, like _'What are you doing?'_ Adam looks down at the floor, "Sorry, Nigel."

Nigel let's out a long sigh, his back again to him. "Go to the next one, Raki." Adam performs similarly. Nigel says nothing. Adam goes through all the remaining rudiments this way. The band shakes their head in sync and in disbelief. Whatever is going on, it is clear who Nigel should choose to be core drummer from now on.

Nigel can't wrap his head around anything… _what the fuck is going on?_ This day, which had held such promise, how could things have so swiftly happened on this day so as to twist him into such an uncomfortable position? And in such a short amount of time? What will he choose to do? Demote his dear love? The very person he wants to nurture as a musician more than anything? The one person he aches to give all the opportunities that are afforded to the core drummer of one of the best Jazz ensembles in the country. What if he gets hurt because Nigel didn't stick up for him? Nigel has worked so hard to build trust between them – to make Adam know that Nigel will always protect him. And, Nigel knows in his heart that he is a damn fine drummer and he's proved time and again that he deserves to be in that seat. What was going on with his playing today? Nothing is right! And what is it with that little shit Luc? First accusing him of playing favorites, talking about Adam's looks…does he know about them? Why else would he say so…if so...no, he cannot be kept. He poses a risk. He is an agitator to them both. A liability. He stands in between everything Nigel has been dreaming of building for the both of them, together. But it's not only that...when it comes down to it, he is yes, a skilled player, but Nigel has witnessed over the years how lazy he got once he became core. He lacks the drive Adam displays again and again, anytime he comes in and plays, no matter how much or how little others encourage or disparage him. A real core needs naked, honest drive to become truly great, and all Luc's got is complacent arrogance. Before ever meeting Adam, Nigel had hoped over and over that Luc's attitude might change but…no fuck this he's fucking out. He will not remain and be rewarded with something he so clearly does not deserve. Nigel can fix Adam's rudiments. He cannot fix Luc's drive and work ethic. Why take away something so essential to Adam's raison d'etre? Luc is fucking out. Yes, it must be.

"In my office, now, Luc."

♪♬♭

Later, as Luc angrily grabbed his stick bag and moved noisily amongst the drum kit, the entire band sat there stunned in silence. Nigel stood in the doorway of his office with his arms crossed. Luc left, but not before stopping to look Adam straight in his eyes. Adam looked down to avoid his gaze. After he heard the door quietly shut, he looked over at the rest of the band. They collectively sneered at him. Some shook their heads in deep contempt. Others whispered to each other and looked back and forth between him and Nigel. The first chair trombonist snarled at him and ejected the disgusting fluid from his spit valve, ala a western saloon spitoon gesture of disapproval. Adam stimmed until Nigel came back to the band, officially beginning rehearsal.

♪♬♭

Nigel is looking at his watch, it reads 11:43 PM, and sitting at a shabby diner two blocks away from his apartment, where Adam had told him to meet. Some old jazz standards play softly over a small radio on the countertop. He keeps ripping open packets of sugar and dumping them into his shitty coffee that he has no intention of actually drinking. His leg jumps up and down in blatant impatience. He wants a smoke so bad. He can remember when it was still legal to smoke inside. Isn't that what shitty twenty-four hour diners were made for? Cheap coffee and cigarettes nervously smoked while waiting for someone who was supposed to come and meet you? Goddamn he wants to smoke…

Adam is not late. Nigel just got there early because he lived nearby, and he was going out of his fucking mind after calling straight to voice mail Adam's phone more than twenty times. Adam had suddenly messaged him to come meet at this place and time an hour after his last call. The bell hanging from the front door rings and then Adam is walking up to the booth.

His eyes are red. He looks upset, but he tries to smile anyways. He won't make eye contact with Nigel. He takes a seat.

Nigel smiles something weak, a desperate gesture to reduce his current anxiety from the unknown. "Darling, what's going on? You wouldn't answer my calls, and then it just kept going to voicemail…and what the fuck happened earlier? Talk to me, please."

Adam will not lie to Nigel. He will instead get to the main order of the evening. He pulls a folder out of his shoulder bag and slides it across the table top.

Nigel looks down and opens it, looking at the forms inside. "What's this all about, Adam?"

Eyes closed to gather strength, Adam speaks, "I'm transferring to Julliard's Jazz Program. I've been on the phone with Director Marsalis all evening. He's happy to take Shaffer's star drummer off of their hands..." He opens his eyes to see Nigel, sucking on his bottom lip and looking out the window. "I have to do this while I've still got that reputation at my disposal, Nigel."

"Marsalis is a great man, he can do many things for you..." And then Nigel nods in acceptance and looks at Adam, giving a sad smile. He feels better, now that Adam has spilled the beans. "I had hoped that I could have been the one to guide you on your journey, but, if it's Julliard, I really can't be that upset. I'm happy for you, Adam." Nigel reaches his hand across to take Adam's into his. He rubs Adam's palm with his thumb before bringing it up to take into his mouth and nibble on. "Why don't we get out of here and celebrate, hmm?" Nigel winks.

Adam winces and pulls his hand away quick. "I don't think you understand Nigel...I'm transferring so that I can focus completely on my music. I have to be dedicated and not only that, but I have to be careful. To continue to see you would be unwise, at this stage of my education and prospective career."

Nigel's eyes are suddenly very moist. "What are you saying Adam?"

"I won't see you anymore, Nigel. It's too risky...too risky for us both. I thought we could just be careful and continue on but...what happened today just demonstrated to me that nothing could be further from the truth." Adam takes a hand and dips it into his pocket to rub lightly against a drumstick.

"No, no, Adam. It doesn't have to be that way..." He grabs Adam's hand and grasps it tight in his own, "We can still make it work, there will be time in the evenings, and on the weekends and-"

"No!" Adam stands up, ripping his hand out of Nigel's, "You're not helping me to be a better drummer Nigel! Why did you do that today? You should have just made Luc core and then everything would have been fine! I could have always just challenged him again next semester...or been promoted once he graduated at the end of the year! You let your affections for me get in the way of sound judgment!" The waitress behind the counter and another customer eating turn to look at them. Adam sits down again and begins rocking in his seat. He speaks at a lower volume then, but no less intense. "If we stay together I'm just going to spend more time thinking of you and how to make you happy and fucking you and loving you and I won't spend any time thinking about drumming and instead of practicing I'll be busy riding Sybians and being spanked in your office and eating macaroni in your kitchen and, and, and...I just won't stand for it!" Big drops of tears roll out of the corners of Adam's eyes.

Nigel tries hard not to cry, "Baby, baby, no, you don't have to-"

Adam interrupts, "You were willing to just give me that seat even though I played horribly Nigel! Why? And...If we stay together, people will know that we were having sex and they will think that I got the core seat just because I was fucking you and then I will never get into any good programs and no collectives or professional ensembles will take me and then I will never have a chance to do this for a living or to play with Jazz legends and become a great musician and I have to stop this before it gets any more dangerous! Think about your career that you've built up! All these years, Nigel! If people know, they will question all the people you took under your wing in the past, people out there in the real world with real jobs that will be in danger if people think they didn't earn it from the start, there in your Studio Band..."

"No, Adam, let me explain why I did that...listen to me..." Nigel is truly desperate now. His voice takes on a strong tone of pleading.

Adam stands up and puts his transfer forms into his shoulder bag. "Thank you for making me feel loved, Nigel. I didn't know that it could be like that...that two people could make each other feel so good, so treasured, but now...I have to be selfish now...for both our sakes. I don't want you to call me or to come see me. I will do the same for you."

Adam goes to leave and Nigel stands to chase after him. Adam turns and puts his hands out to stop him. Nigel stays put. Adam leaves the diner. Nigel goes back to the booth. He closes his eyes. The radio on the counter starts playing 'All of Me'. _How fucking apt..._

"Waitress...could you turn it up please?" He stares into the shiny black of his coffee mug. He then takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lifts it to his lips as he lights it. The waitress sees...but then again she saw everything...she says nothing.

 

And Bobby Byrne's sad trombone obbligato sets the scene for Helen O'Connell to croon over:

  
[Helen O'Connell - All Of Me (1939) with The Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra](http://picosong.com/zARf)

_'All of me why not take all of me,_  
_Can't you see I'm no good without you._  
_Take my arms I'll never use them,_  
_Take my lips I want to lose them,_

_Your good bye left me with eyes that cry,_  
_How can I go on dear without you._  
_You took the part that once was my heart,_  
_So why not take all of me.'_


	15. The Bleed-Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of vignettes from the five years after Nigel and Adam's break-up.

_Bleed-through: A slang term which refers to the ambient sounds that a microphone aimed at instrument A picks up from other instruments or singers in the same room. In some cases, "bleeding" is considered undesirable, if unwanted sounds from other instruments are picked up by a microphone. To prevent "bleeding", studios use isolation booths and cloth-covered room dividers. In some cases, "bleed-through" is desirable, because it makes the recording sound fuller or more "live"._

♪♬♭

“Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable haemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed. Like Schrödinger’s cat inside a box you can never ever open.”  
― David Mitchell, Slade House

♪♬♭ 

PINT I.

Snip. Snip. Snip. The sound of twin blades gliding against each other in quick and deliberate movement cuts through the peaceful silence of Nigel's apartment. Then, there is a flutter of flimsy paper, the kind used for printed media to be distributed on a large scale. Darko looks over from the night view at the living room window to see Nigel working with a stack of newspapers at his coffee table. He gets close to see what's caught his eye, and then reflexively rolls his own. "What the fuck are you doing, asshole?"

Nigel makes no attempt to look at his friend. Just shrugs his shoulders as he delicately puts the clipping aside. "What, I can't be proud of him?" His voice is soft. So soft. It hits somewhere deep inside Darko, cueing bars of sympathy to ring out within him. Darko avoids Nigel's eyes when he finally looks up at him, so Nigel gets up to go to his record shelf, to find the small black Moleskine he has been filling with artifacts of a life that he is no longer part of.

[ ](http://imgur.com/a/KCg63)

At the table, Darko leans down and picks out another section that piques his interest and takes it with him to read as he goes to recline on Nigel's loveseat. He lights a cigarette and opens the pages wide enough to obscure his face.

Nigel sits back down at the small table, to begin applying some paste to the back of the article before sticking it in the notebook. He folds the excess that spills over the confines of the small pages neatly inward to prevent them from jutting out.

Darko's voice comes out from behind the folded newspaper, "Did you know that it only takes losing about twenty-five percent of your total blood volume to croak? In an adult, that's like five pints…I can drink _double_ that on a good night!"

Nigel chuckles as he presses the pages of the notebook together, to ensure that the article is stuck in real good. "You are one sick fucking vampire wannabe, my friend."

"Du-te dracu! _Go to hell!_ You know what the fuck I mean! Beer! Six pints of BEER!"

Nigel scoffs exaggeratedly. "Yeah right, fucken' lightweight!" He pauses and looks at the empty space cut out of the music section of the local times - runs his index finger over the edges to feel the void. Then he looks over at Darko with a raised eyebrow, his friend puffing smoke rings from behind his papery veil. "And what the fuck are you reading anyways?"

"Just some stupid fluff piece on the extremes a human body can go through before succumbing to death…are you fucking ready now? I want to get over there already! I need a drink and a woman. Though, not nearly as much as you do, my friend!" Darko folds up the periodical and tosses it aside as he sits upright to look at a pouting Nigel crossing his arms.

"I'm not going."

Darko rolls his eyes again. "It's been six months already! Time for some rebound! You need to get out! Feel alive again!"

Nigel's pout grows deeper.

Darko massages the bridge of his nose and lets out a big puff of air. He scrunches his eyes tightly. "Okay, okay, okay! I can't believe I'm fucking saying this….if you don't wanna go to Andrei's club, I heard….I heard Constantin has got a new place that's got good-looking girls... _and_ boys. He's trying to cater to a more 'diverse' crowd…I mean if that's your thing…which apparently it is, you sappy scrapbooking piece of shit!" Darko opens his eyes to see Nigel staring fucking daggers right into the pit of his soul.

 

[Massive Attack - Special Cases](http://picosong.com/aUMm)

Nigel can feel the bass reverberating through the leather soles of his dress shoes, up into his flesh and bones and all along his form. The vibrations culminate in his skull and ripple out seductively, like an internal and minute massage given to him by the music. The club is dark and smokey, and full of sin.

He's had way too much of Constantin's private stash of 150 proof țuică already, a batch the club owner's relatives had personally made and sent over (essentially a moonshine made of Romanian plums), and he's done nothing all evening except chain smoke. He just focuses on the music and puffs and puffs and puffs. He counts beats and hums in key. He keeps to himself and does not look over at Darko, currently entangled with some suspiciously young and pliant ladies, they themselves like carnivorous vines of enticement, there to wrap around you and squeeze every last fucking dime and drop of cum out until there's nothing left. He doesn't look and he tries desperately not to think of sex. He thinks of layered samples and deadly serious lyrics. He thinks of music and doesn't look around at all. Darko looks at him. He looks and sighs. Then he tells the bleached blonde to his left to bring his friend a special something of certain specifications, and within seconds, Nigel finds himself being encroached upon by an entirely different creature, one surely with a similar goal, but a different modus completely.

The creature's silvery voice reaches him over the wet sounds of the slow, echo-y bass and sultry singing, no doubt a skill achieved through much practice, engaging him in his mother tongue: " _Your friend says you are in need of some company._ " Nigel takes one glance at him before whipping his head around in fury over at Darko. Darko raises a glass and smirks wide as the slim tendril of a hand slips inside his dress shirt.

Nigel doesn’t look at the young man sitting oh so near to him on the sofa. He closes his eyes and replies, words terse and controlled. " _I'm afraid you've been misinformed._ "

" _Well, I've already come and sat down, and I can see Elena on her way with my drink._ " The beautiful creature gestures toward a woman coming to them with some drinks on a tray with his own graceful hand. " _May I just stay a while?_ "

Nigel looks at him for real now, from the cherubic halo of brown ringlets, down past big cornflower blue eyes and fine nose, to his lithe, youthful frame donning an extremely tight but neat white button down. He watches as the creature fidgets affectedly to pull at the fabric bunching up at the thighs of his snug black slacks that cover his long legs. Nigel takes in a deep inhale of his cigarette, the ember from it glowing bright orange-red on his face, and he just closes his eyes and nods in concession, as he thinks, ' _Darko, you motherfucker'._

" _My name is Luca - what shall I call you by?"_ he says, as he grabs their drinks from Elena the waitress' tray. He turns to look at Nigel with an upturned brow before handing him a small glass of more țuică.

_"Nigel."_

_"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Nigel."_ With that, Luca holds his glass up to cheers and they both clink and knock their drinks back.

The night goes on, and Luca keeps the drinks coming and coming until Nigel loses all capability of articulate speech. He becomes reduced to a smiling simple thing that follows commands and just nods his head yes, and so it was of little surprise when later on, unaware of how much time had actually passed or where Darko had gone off to, he found himself suddenly alone with the pretty boy in what appeared to be a bathroom stall in the back of the club.

Now, Nigel watches Luca's brown curls bob back and forth as he receives the empty pleasure of this stranger's wet caress and he thinks of Adam. He shuts his eyes tight and thinks of the many times he was honored with the enthusiastic touches of _his_ beautiful boy, perfect and giving and fun and kind and wonderful, of how good he could make him feel with his skillful tongue and lips. He thinks of Adam's beautiful mouth that had glistened and shone pink and that had been so pliable and warm and just right and the soft sounds his mouth would produce that intermingled with the lascivious ones, of moist happiness that connected them in velvet stimulation. He thinks of the way that sweet mouth had tasted after he consumed Nigel at the end of every time...and he looks down again at Luca, whose curls seem to shift until they are the exact right shade of brown and the right length and then it is Adam's blue-green eyes that are looking up at him, and Nigel fucking loses it.

He pushes Luca away and begins to sob into the corner of the stall, pulling his pants up hurriedly in aversion. Luca attempts superficially to console him, but abandons his efforts after a few moments and exits.

Nigel sits in the stall crying until he has to empty his stomach into the toilet.

It will not be last time he comes to see Luca and end up in tears.

♪♬♭ 

PINT II.

Adam awakes to the jarring noise of someone banging at his door at four in the morning. He gets up, clad in his blue and white striped pajamas, hair sticking up in all directions, and the vasculature in his eyeballs colors them a bright red. He goes to near the front door and stops. The knocking does not cease, but only becomes more insistent. His mouth opens and he tries to make a sound but nothing comes out. Frozen in place and unsure of what to do, he stands there and the knocking keeps on and on until it matches the rhythm of his terrified heart. Then a sad moan comes through the wood of the door -

"Adaaaaam..."

Adam knows that voice. Would know it anywhere. "...Nigel?" His voice is soft and trembling. But he finds that he can move his feet now that he knows who it is. He creeps closer.

Nigel's knocking stops. "...please, Adam...open the door, won't you, darling?"

Nigel leans onto his side of the door, his burning, wet face flush with the cool paint. He runs his hands along it, as if by doing so he can feel Adam on the other side. "Open the door, baby."

Adam leans his forehead onto the door, too. His hands bunch up into the fabric of his pajama top. He can hear the pain in Nigel's voice. His own voice rings out devoid of intonation, but Nigel knows better than to assume that it means he doesn't feel anything. "Nigel, it's been two years. I asked you not to contact me."

"I know darling and I'm sorry. ...I just need to take a look at you. Just let me see you and I'll go away again. I won't bother you anymore."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Nigel. And you shouldn't call me 'baby' or 'darling'. Pet names are meant for people in intimate relationships."

Nigel flinches. "Yes, Adam. I apologize...just...just open the door. I'll be good. Surely, you would not deny an old man this simple request?"

Nigel hears the deadbolt open and watches the doorknob turn so he moves away to stand up straight and tall. He wipes away at the tears on his cheeks and looks up to see Adam peering at him through the few inches of space he has cracked in the door. Adam has not removed the chain lock. Quietly, he speaks. "You're not old, Nigel."

Adam's hair is a bit longer now and from his sleep it is tussled to curly perfection. His face has filled out a bit and he has a dashing five o'clock shadow, but his youthfully plush lips and big blue-green eyes have not altered. He is devastating in his beauty. Nigel's knees nearly buckle. So worth it to humiliate himself this way just to be able to see the man he's changed into in only the past couple of years. He's beautiful.

Nigel smiles small and makes a tiny wave of his hand. "Hello, gorgeous."

Adam blushes. And then - his nostrils flare as he takes in the vapor of alcohol emanating from Nigel. "Are you drunk, Nigel?"

Nigel nods and looks at the floor, ashamed. "Yeah, sorry."

There is a silence. Adam starts to feel like he's going to cry. He thinks of that fateful day when Luc had cornered him and gave him The Ultimatum. He feels so guilty now, seeing Nigel here, diminished, reduced, scaled-down...down to this, this embarrassing vulnerability. To see him tear-streaked and begging for a glimpse at his doorstep, it is more than he can bear. It's all his fault. He has done this to Nigel. Nigel's power is gone. He is no longer the confident force that could command a faction of musicians into fearful obedience and hard earned excellence. He allowed himself to open up to Adam, and then Adam left him that way to bleed out until there was nothing but the sad shell of a man left. He did this to him. Adam slams the door. "You have to go now, Nigel."

Nigel expected this. But he is still happy that he got to see him. "Okay, yeah, you're right...I just want you to know...I'm so very proud of you. I always keep an ear to the ground when it comes to you… And...You're almost all the way through...so maybe...maybe when you've finished school I could come see you again sometime to catch up? What do you say?" The hope in his voice is desperate. Pitiful.

Adam doesn't think to not lead him on. He only answers honestly. He whispers through the door. "I'd like that, Nigel."

Nigel's eyebrows peak up in happy surprise and he has to clamp his hands over his mouth to keep from shouting and wailing with joy. The deadbolt sounds out as it locks into place.

He takes a few steps back and keeps watching the door. Then he continues on toward the stairwell. Looking back one last time, he calls out toward Adam's apartment: "Take care of yourself til then, Mr. Raki."

Adam listens until his footfalls on the wooden steps can no longer be heard. And then he weeps and weeps and weeps with his head in his knees on the floor, rattling with regret.

♪♬♭

PINT III.

Nigel knocks on the door after adjusting his tie; he has forgone his usual all black uniform for something a little more conventional.

"Come in."

He opens the door to find two men of whom he is well acquainted with: Dr. Shepard, director of the jazz program at Shaffer, and Darko, Local Asshole, Dear Friend, and Leader of the Nassau Band. Dr. Shepard gestures for Nigel to take the seat opposite Darko, in front of his office desk. The Studio Band leader takes the seat. He has an inkling of what this is all about. He is nervous for what they will do about it.

"Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Nigel," Dr. Shepard begins, dispensing with all the necessary pleasantries.

Nigel leans back in the chair, defiant, with his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap. He juts out his bottom lip and tilts his head in an affirmatory gesture.

Dr. Shepard and Darko look at each other for a moment before the director continues. "There have been numerous complaints about your conduct in rehearsals as of late. You haven't been yourself much, well, for a while now, but it's beginning to take a great toll on the morale and the quality of Studio Band."

Nigel looks out the window. "What complaints?"

"You come in sometimes, thirty minutes to an hour late."

Nigel's face contorts in incredulity. "That was only twice last month and it was because I -"

The director cuts him off. "You often stink of alcohol."

Nigel shuts his mouth.

"The students say you have lost your passion. You don't yell or scream or berate them to be better anymore. You just conduct rehearsals and end them without so much as a remark of constructive criticism. Some days, without so much as even a word."

Nigel looks at Darko and then at the floor. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Nigel, you have _been_ Shaffer for the past decade and a half. We would not lose you over a tiny hiccup like this. We all have our slumps...we just want to offer you the opportunity to step away for a while and regroup."

"What are you talking about?"

Darko jumps in to ameliorate. "A sabbatical, Nigel. Six months at least. You can take however long you need. They will have you back when you're ready."

Nigel scoffs and looks at him, gesturing with his hand in the air. "What the fuck am I gonna do with myself for six months? And who will prep the band for the autumn competition season? No. I won't do it."

The director folds his hands solemnly on top of the desk. "I'm afraid you have no choice. It's either this or we find a permanent replacement."

Nigel sulks. "Isn't there an application process? It would have to be approved by the board. That takes time...and I don't know what I'd put down as my official reason for taking leave."

Darko interjects before the director can speak. This will be easier to hear coming from him. "Don't worry about the application process. It will be expedited and approved. You're a special case. They just want you better so you can get back to winning competitions and grooming Shaffer's best and brightest...and as for your reason, I told them about that book that you keep talking about writing. The one on Romanian jazz history. It's a good idea. Not much literature out on the subject."

Nigel looks directly at Darko. He smiles a bit at the idea of having a new project to take his mind off of...no he won't think of his name...it would be good to do this; it has interested him for many years.

Nigel stands up and goes to the director. He offers his hand. "Okay. I'll do it."

Darko lets out a sigh of relief as he stands to pat Nigel on the shoulder. He leans in close and speaks quietly, "This will be good for you, dear friend."

Then Nigel has a thought. "Wait. Who's gonna take over for me until I return?"

The director looks at Darko. Nigel groans and shakes his head, although, he is secretly glad. There is no one else in the world that he could trust enough with his life's work.

♪♬♭ 

PINT IV.

In a large banquet hall in downtown Manhattan, a grand party is being held to celebrate the return of Shaffer's own prodigal son and recently published author, Nigel. Socialites and the Jazz elite have all gathered for the affair, drinking champagne and eating hor d'oeuvres in black tie attire, as a tasteful sextet plays soft standards in the background. There are many faces he knows, and even more that he does not. The event is expected to garner much needed donations for the conservatory and bolster the flagging interest in Shaffer's jazz program. And Nigel couldn't care less.

He goes outside to take a break from socializing and hides among some pillars on the veranda, in the dark of the evening, feeling utterly strange at being back in the hoity toity bosom of New York's most spoiled child, after nearly a year of a simpler existence back in Romania. He ruminates briefly on the abrupt turns which his life had taken in such a short amount of time, having been suddenly pushed into a forced sabbatical in Romania, where his days were spent in monastic study and his nights in libertine excess, and now he is back again at his old job, welcomed with open arms, to go back to rehearsing and yelling and thinking only of music. It feels like a step backwards.

Then, two middle aged ladies come out for a smoke nearby, gossiping unabashedly.

"Ugh, did you see that crude tattoo on his neck?"

"Absolutely tasteless. I've never seen anything like that! He's a tenured faculty member; it's positively unprofessional. Did he always have that?"

Nigel listens and reflexively rubs at the pinup girl on his neck, chuckling.

"Lord, no! Do you think Shaffer would have hired him if he did?"

"I suppose you're right...The things musicians get away with though..." They both shake their heads in disapproval.

Nigel smirks and goes back inside.

At the refreshments table he looks around for little things to nibble on. Involved in putting ridiculously priced little pieces of toast and caviar on a plate, he doesn't see the man waiting behind him to gain his attention. The man clears his throat. Nigel turns and sees who it is and smiles.

"Marsalis. It's been quite some time." Nigel extends his hand to the Director of Jazz Studies at Julliard, and one of the greatest Jazz educators, composers, and trumpeters of our time, Wynton Marsalis. They shake with a deep familiarity. Marsalis then brings two books out from under his arm: Nigel's book on Romanian Jazz, Balkan Bebop: The Banned Jazz of Post-WWII Era Romania **.** He holds them up and then extends his other hand, grasping an elegant fountain pen.

"May I have a dedication?" Marsalis says and smiles.

"I didn't think you were a big enough fan to purchase two copies," Nigel quips as he begins writing on the inside of the first one.

"I'm not. One is for Mr. Raki."

Nigel looks up at him abruptly.

Marsalis continues. "He asked me to get one dedicated to him when I mentioned I was coming tonight. I'm a bit surprised though; I figured you two did not part ways amicably, due to his insistence on avoiding you as a topic of conversation."

Nigel looks down at the book, grinning and happy, and continues writing, "That was a long time ago. He will always be a treasured student in my eyes." He finishes signing the second book. "Please give him my warmest regards."

"I'll let him know. It was a pleasure to see you again, Nigel."

They shake again and part ways.

 

[ ](http://imgur.com/a/2UTJM)

♪♬♭ 

PINT V.

Nigel looks down at his watch as his right leg shakes impatiently. Thirty minutes to call time at the first competition since his return, and his core drummer is not here. The little piece of shite cunt. Nigel beckons the drum alternate over to him with a crooked finger. He, and the rest of the band are all dressed in their performing attire, neat black suits and ties with white dress shirts. The alternate is a pudgy thing, but capable on the drums, and he hobbles over as quickly as he can. Nigel grabs the right side lapels of his jacket in a tight fist. "Call Connelly right fucking now. Tell him if he's not here in five minutes, that _you_ will be warming up and taking the stage today."

The alternate smiles big, "Really, sir?!"

"FUCKING CALL HIM NOW!"

He drops the kid. The kid stands up and begins fumbling for his phone in his pockets, when suddenly Connelly, the core, busts through the door, sweating, out of breath.

Nigel speaks with his back to him, "Glad you could work us into your schedule, sweet cheeks."

Connelly speaks, panting. "I'm here...My bus broke down, but I'm here. I'm ready to play."

Nigel is not in the mood."Too late. Parsons is playing."

Connelly, a big boy who looks like he should be playing rugby instead, looks over at the chubby alternate and glares. "Like fucking hell he is."

Nigel turns around, stunned. The rest of the band is just as shocked. "Come again, cupcake?"

"It's my part." Connelly is defiant. Aggressive. Perfect for Nigel to fuck with.

"Actually it's my part. _I_ decide who to lend it to."

"Look, I'm here. I'm ready. I've got my folder. Let's just do this and sort out my mistakes later on. I can do this!"

Nigel looks the boy over: he's dressed appropriately, a bit sweaty but still presentable, and he's got his music folder. No stick bag. "I see the folder, but I don't see the sticks."

Connelly is about to counter, when he looks down and looks back at the door. He realizes he left them in the rental car office he had to go to to pick up a car when there weren't any taxis around where the bus had broken down. His skin pales..."They're...they're in the car. I just have to go grab them..."

Nigel shakes his head and laughs. "Nope. I'm warming the band up now."

"I'll use Parsons' sticks." Still defiant – Connelly is a slow learner.

Nigel walks up real close to him, the same in height but his presence seems to make him so much bigger. "You lost the part, Connelly." Then Nigel turns to go toward the stage and warm the band up.

Connelly loses all composure; he thinks of how hard he struggled to get to this point, not only with the bus and the fucking rental car but all his life, just how hard he had practiced. And now it's all gone thanks to the mercurial attitude of the new band leader. His voice cracks as he lashes out. "No, I didn't!! You can't do this!!"

Nigel whips around. "I CAN'T???" He marches toward the drummer. He looms near, as though about to hit him. "When did you become an authority on what I can or cannot do you weepy-willow shitsack?"

Connelly counters. "When I EARNED that part."

"You realize I can cut you anytime I feel."

"You would've cut me by now."

"Fucking try me."

They stare at each other, unwilling to back down from either position.

Nigel has to admit to himself, he's curious how far the kid will go. "Okay, at 5:30, that's in eleven minutes, my band is on-stage. If I find you not here with your own sticks, or you show up and make a single mistake – A SINGLE ONE – and I'll send you back to Nassau Band to turn pages until you graduate or drop out!" Nigel let's that sink in for a moment. "Or I can give Parsons the part and we'll leave it at that. Your choice."

The wheels turn in Connelly's head. _Fuck it._ "It's my part. I'll be on stage."

[ ](http://imgur.com/a/YTtCe)

Nigel is not amused. "That's ten minutes fifty seconds left."

Connelly turns and runs, bumping deliberately into Parsons by the door, knocking him down.

 

Ten minutes later, and the unimaginable happens.

 

Nobody hears Connelly come in, on account of the tuning, no one notices him until he is whispering loudly at Parsons, "Get off. Get off the fucking set."

Parsons looks up at him and nearly jumps off when he sees the state of him. Nigel looks over at this point too. Connelly has his stick bag. He's also got a visibly fucked up left hand (four fingers broken) and a profusely bleeding forehead. Nigel blinks, at first baffled, and then, supremely amused. He smiles. This is going to be interesting.

Over the speakers in the auditorium, an announcement comes on, "The Shaffer Conservatory Studio Band..."

Nigel raises his hand, ready to cue. Connelly tries to grasp his stick properly, but the pain is immense and his fingers won't respond, broken as they are. Nigel's finger moves.

The band goes off! Exploding into the piece at lightning speed! But, Connelly is already in trouble. He tries to keep up, but his broken bones won't allow him. The blood from the cuts on his forehead seeps into his eyes and drips onto the snare. His ears ring and ring and he can no longer hear the rest of the band.

Nigel comes up real close, he looks at the injuries. The blood. His smile is all snarl as he speaks softly, sweetly, sarcastically, "Are we all right, now, boy?" He turns to the rest of the band then, and gives the sign of death. Almost immediately, the rest of the band grinds to a halt. It's a horrible sound, like a car screeching or nails on a chalkboard. Then he turns back to Connelly and whispers one last thing: "You're done."

All eyes are on Connelly. The entire auditorium is silent and disbelieving. Nigel approaches the main mic and begins announcing an apology to the crowd, when suddenly, Connelly rises and kicks over the drums. Cymbals crash to the wooden stage-floor like bombs. Connelly uses every last ounce of fury inside himself to charge at and tackle Nigel. He raises his fists in the air, ready to pound into his face..."YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!"

A security guard yanks him off. Torn from his target, he breaks down into tears, wailing into the shocked silence of the space. He kicks and screams as he is dragged backstage.

Nigel sits up and wipes at all of Connelly's blood that had dripped onto his face, and he breaks into psychotic laughter.


	16. Side-slipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later, Adam and Nigel meet again on a fateful day.

 

_Side-slipping: To play a passage, a melody or chord, a half-step up or down from its expected place or in relation to the given harmony._

 

SUMMER, 2021.

   
It's a warm evening, and Adam walks alone on a busy Manhattan sidewalk a few blocks away from his place, style unchanged even after all these years. Still the same neat button-down and slacks; his hair neatly cut and face clean-shaven. He clutches a brown paper bag full of fragile replacement parts for various pieces in his ever-growing orrery collection, picked up from a private collector he met on Craigslist. He tucks it into his protective embrace whenever a quick stranger trudges past. He comes up on the jazz club, Mezzrow, which he has walked past a number of times without a second thought, but today something catches his eye. The main sign near the door of the club. A lot of familiar names on the list. Great performers of whom he knows by reputation yet is not particularly inclined to break his nightly routine to go see. But then, there, below the featured names is this - 'GUEST PERFORMER : NIGEL CEL TRADAT'.   
   
Adam stays put for a second, completely taken aback. He looks around a bit to make sure that he is in the real world and not a dream, and then he looks at the sign again. He peers down at the ground and starts to walk away...then goes back to inspect the sign once more. Before his brain has a chance to protest, his legs carry him down the front steps and into the basement, past the bar and through to the lounge. It is a small, intimate space, clean but aged and dimly lit, perfect for ensembles just like the genteel quartet in the middle of playing. The room is full, save for a few empty tables beyond the bar and out of sight of the stage.   
   
And there Nigel is, at the piano.  
   
Adam forgets to breathe. His heart races.  
   
Adam doesn't even look at the other men at the bass, bongos, and drums. He just looks at him, hardly believing that they are in the same room together.  
 

[Whiplash Soundtrack - Fletcher's Song In Club](http://picosong.com/HR5x)

Nigel looks different now, donning a rather silly but endearing light blue shirt with little wiener doggies placed in a repeating pattern on it. There is a conspicuous tattoo of a sexy woman on his neck that wasn't there before. His hair is longer than Adam remembers from that time he came late at night to visit him at his apartment, about down past his ears. The scruff on his jawline is more silver and rugged. He's still beautiful, just now rougher around the edges. And Adam is as attracted to him as he ever was. A woman jostles him out of his trance as she pushes past to order a drink, and so he steps closer to the wall to watch.

  
   
The troupe is pacing its way through the laid-back song, and Nigel is playing the final head. He’s exceedingly delicate, gentle with each keystroke, his fingers moving like ballerinas. His playing is soft, subtle, and exquisite. He plays the melody as though moved by it, closing his eyes and bobbing his head along with the changing notes. Adam holds his bag tightly to his chest, in awe of Nigel's tenuity. He is not surprised by it, having experienced Nigel's tenderness on many occasions. He knows what softness lies at his core, so it is no mystery how such a deliberate gentleness could translate so beautifully into his musicality.  
   
The song comes to a close, and then Nigel opens his eyes to look around the room at the restrained applause given by the audience, when he freezes. He has seen Adam. They make eye contact. Adam starts with a small jump and then turns quickly to make for the exit. Now that the set is done, many others are also attempting to leave. His escape is blocked.  
   
The drummer calls out over the mic, "That was Nigel Cel Tradat on the keys..." More applause.   
   
"Adam."  
   
Adam stops and turns to look at him, his face contorting awkwardly. Nigel is all warm smiles.  
   
"Hello, Nigel."  
   
Nigel extends his hand, which Adam instinctively takes. He leads Adam to a small table that sits empty past the bar. They both sit down. Nigel gestures to the barmaid, who comes over and takes their order: for Nigel, a double shot of whiskey on the rocks, and Adam, an iced cola. They sit silently until the drinks come, taking the other in. Adam's heart is still pounding in his chest. He looks at Nigel's smile and, for some reason, he thinks of an illustration of the Cheshire Cat from the books of his youth. It is broad, and unsettling. The expressions of other people have always failed to move him so, but not with Nigel, never with him.  
   
The glasses clink down onto the wooden table top. "You look well."  
   
"I am well, Nigel," Adam answers, believing his own statement.  
   
Nigel sips his whiskey. Adam wants to get what he's been secretly fretting about for years now off his chest; it weighs so heavily. "I'm...sorry, Nigel."  
   
Nigel doesn't put down the glass. He stops sipping and instead just looks over the rim of the glass. "About what, Adam?"  
   
"About ending the relationship so abruptly."  
   
Nigel looks into the brown liquid begging to be poured into his mouth. His smile disappears and something else slips through, something Adam can't identify. Nigel takes the sip. He sets the glass down and resets his smile. "Don't be silly, Adam. That was a long time ago. You did what you thought was best for yourself. Certainly nothing wrong with that....and didn't it turn out to be a wise decision?" He looks at Adam then.  
   
Adam looks around to avoid his gaze. "Most times I am sure that it was. But, there are times when I am not."

"I forgive you, Adam."  
   
The audience claps as the next band takes the stage to begin its set. Nigel looks around, too, distracted. They are silent for a few moments more, until the crowd quiets and the band begins. Nigel turns back to look at Adam.  
   
"I don't know if you are aware...but I don't teach anymore."  
   
Adam had caught it in whispered hushes at rehearsals, had read it in the local times. "Yeah I heard about that. What happened?"  
   
"A couple of parents of one of my former students got another kid, my former core drummer, to say some things about me in a lawsuit...he was in a car accident on the way to our first competition of the autumn season at Dunellen. He blames me for what happened to him. The school let me go as one of the conditions to settle out of court."  
   
"I see." Adam says as he wears a pitiful expression.  
   
Nigel recoils from it, and again his Cheshire expression is broken, but only for a moment. "No, it’s ok - I know I’ve made some enemies. Maybe I seem to think my style is normal, but believe me, I don’t. I used to. But I know better now." Nigel sips his drink. "I’m conducting some, though. They’re bringing back the JVC Fest this year; they have me opening with a pro band in two weeks."   
   
Adams smiles and drinks his coke. "That's great, Nigel."  
   
"It's alright..." Nigel looks off blankly, as he runs his index finger in circles over the rim of the short glass. "The truth is I don’t think people understand what it is I did at Shaffer. I wasn’t there to conduct. Any idiot can move his hands and keep people in tempo. No, it’s about pushing people beyond what’s expected of them. And I believe that is an absolute necessity. Because without it you’re depriving the world of its next Armstrong. Its next Parker," Nigel says and then pauses for more whiskey, before inquiring at Adam, "Why did Charlie Parker become Charlie Parker?"  
   
Adam remembers softly, and answers so, "Because Jo Jones threw a cymbal at him."  
   
Nigel chuckles. "Exactly. Young boy, decent on the sax, goes up to play his solo in a cutting session, fucks up - and Jones nearly decapitates him for it. He’s laughed off-stage. Cries himself to sleep that night. But the next morning, what does he do? He practices. And practices and practices. With one goal in mind: that he never ever be laughed off-stage again. A year later he goes back to the Reno, and he plays the best motherfucking solo the world had ever heard."  
   
Adam watches Nigel. He finally gets what Nigel meant all those years ago with his Charlie Parker anecdote. He finds himself agreeing, accepting Nigel's way of thinking. He understands the violence and the intimidation of his classroom antics, what he had been going for, for all these years.  
   
Nigel goes on, his tone becoming more and more bitter as he speaks, "Now imagine if Jones had just patted young Charlie on the head and said 'Good job.' Charlie would’ve said to himself, 'Well, shit, perhaps I did do a good job,' and that’d be that. No Bird. Tragic, no? Except that’s just what people today want. The Shaffer Conservatories of the world, they want sugar. You don’t even say 'cutting session' anymore, do you? No, you say 'jam session'. What the fuck kind of word is that? Jam session? It’s a cutting session, Adam, this isn’t fucking Smucker’s. It’s about weeding out the best from the worst so that the worst become better than the best. I mean look around you. $25 drinks, mood lighting, a little shrimp cocktail to go with your Coltrane. And people wonder why jazz is dying. Take it from me, and every Starbucks jazz album only proves my point. There are no two words more harmful in the entire English language than 'good job."  
   
A thought comes up in Adam's mind. He thinks of Luc. The kid who got in the accident at Dunellen and dropped out...himself even. "But do you think there’s a line, Nigel? You know, where you discourage the next 'Charlie Parker' from becoming 'Charlie Parker'?  
   
Nigel scoffs, without hesitation. He is absolutely convinced that the ends justified the means when it came to his methods. "No. Because the next Charlie Parker would never be discouraged."  
   
He looks at the piano and then back at Nigel and asks, "And you? Are you back to playing now?"  
   
"Not really. Here and there... The playing never interested me. I never wanted to be Charlie Parker. I wanted to be the man who made Charlie Parker. The man who discovered some scrawny kid, pushed him, prodded him, shaped him into something great - and then said to the world, 'Check this out. The best motherfucking solo you’ve ever heard.'"  
   
"Who’s your Charlie Parker, then?"  
   
"The truth is I don’t know if I ever had a Charlie Parker...But I tried." Nigel looks very tired suddenly. "And that’s more than most people can say, Adam. I tried. And even if I never find one, I will never apologize for trying."   
   
Sipping his coke, Adam speculates about how different things would have been had he stayed on as Nigel's protege and lover. Would he have been like Charlie Parker? Sure, he's doing well in the industry now...but...what if he could have been even more than this? A legend? There will never be an answer to that. So Adam lets the thought go.

♪♬♭

Not long after they finish their drinks, Adam and Nigel leave the club to find themselves standing on the sidewalk and looking at one another in silence. Adam doesn't know what to make of the evening; all he knows is how good it feels to be near Nigel again, and to be talking, sharing their thoughts. It feels so fucking good. He smiles at Nigel, wanting more, stepping in closer when Nigel doesn't look. He wants to take in his smell again, of nicotine and cologne. He thinks of what Nigel had said all those years ago about catching up after Adam had graduated. Wonders if he really wanted it then. If he still does.   
   
"You know I'm done at Julliard. I'm playing with the jazz orchestra at the Lincoln Center full time, now."  
   
Nigel hears his words but fails to recognize their significance. He does not see the closeness of Adam's body to his. Does not feel Adam's attempt to bridge the hurt they have both gone through in the past five years. He has but one thing on his mind.  
   
"Look. I don’t know how you’ll take this. That band I’m leading for JVC  - our drummer isn’t cutting it. Do you understand?"  
   
Adam looks up at Nigel. "No."  
   
"I’m using the Studio Band playlist. 'Whiplash', 'Caravan'. I need a replacement who already knows those charts inside out."  
   
_Oh. So, he just needs me to play the drums for him. How disappointing._ "There are others who are very capable. What about Charlie Countryman?"  
   
Nigel raises an eyebrow. "What about him? All he ever was to me, was your incentive." _Did Adam really not know this?_ "Anyway, he switched to pre-med." Nigel smiles. "I think he got discouraged."   
   
Adam thinks about this. He is touched by what Nigel had done secretly in order to motivate him.  
   
"We’re rehearsing next Tuesday. Why don’t you take the weekend to think about it, Adam?"  
   
"I don't need to," Adam says and nods his head gently. "I'll do it." 


	17. The JVC Fest of 2021

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to the first part of the thrilling conclusion to our two boys' tale of love and woe...

 

 

SUMMER, 2016.

_RING._

_RING._

_'You have one new voice message...'_

_'Adam... I've had enough. I will never forget what you did to me you...You lost that folder on purpose. You knew I didn’t know the chart by heart... Answer me... I’ve been core for two years. I’ve been drumming since I was three. I earned my spot you asshole!'_

*click*

 

♪♬♭

_RING._

_RING._

_'You have one new voice message…'_

_'I saw your fucking selfies today when you were talking with Gabi! Don't deny what you guys have going on! And I was there, Adam, at Dunellen… you two lovebirds thought you'd just come early and no one would see you? I saw! I fucking saw! I followed you after, too. All fucking cozy at that little diner! What would everyone think if they knew how you schemed and fucked your way into the core position, huh, Adam?! Fucking answer me! Answer me or you'll regret it!'_

*click*

♪♬♭ 

Adam hears a long high-pitched whistle and looks in the direction it's coming from. Luc is at the end of the dark path that winds around Sheep Meadow, barely illuminated by one sad lamp post. Adam looks at the three moths drawn to it by transverse orientation, buzzing their wings pointlessly toward the artificial moon. _You guys are being lead the wrong way, too, huh?_ He draws in a breath and then starts walking toward Luc.

Luc is in the same clothes from earlier that afternoon, and he looks so, so tired. When Luc exhales, Adam can smell the stink of the cheap wine that was offered to himself earlier by Gabi. They walk wordlessly until they wander down a side path, away from the as yet crowded field filled with New Yorkers basking in the cool summer night air of Central Park, and stop. Luc pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts showing Adam a slideshow of photos. Photos of him and Nigel pulling up to the Dunellen Performing Arts Center in Nigel's black AMG. Getting out, and going in together. There are some also of their dinner that evening, taken from across the street... The two of them seated at a booth with a window seat... Nigel spooning heaps of macaroni and cheese into Adam's mouth... the two of them sharing a chocolate shake with two straws... how had they not seen Luc... known they were being watched? He looks at their happy expressions, how absorbed they are in each other. No one else exists in the world but them. No wonder they didn't see. _How goddamn foolish of them..._

He needs to get away from this. He feels that at any second anxiety might take him. "What do you want, Luc?"

Adam's seeming lack of emotional distress irks Luc to the nth degree. He can hardly contain the rage that's been festering inside of him for months, now. He scoffs loudly before he speaks. "I'm going to challenge you for the core seat tomorrow morning. And you will do nothing to stand in my way. If you do, I will send these photos to every music director at every school in New York state." He smirks. "I should have already, to be honest, but I need Nigel around to keep Studio Band in the top spot." He puts his phone away. "You, not so much. Which is why you will lose to me when he has us square off for the position, you got me?"

"Fine, Luc." Adam turns to leave. He needs to get away. Sweat begins to pour from every inch of his body. His vision is getting blurry.

Nearly screaming, Luc speaks loud and quick, his lips sputtering out saliva at every angry consonant. His finger stabbing violently into the air. "Hey! That's it!? You're not gonna fucking say anything?! You have no fucking shame do you? Being coddled and spoiled by that asshole! You don't deserve that seat! You only got it because Nigel told you how to sabotage me! And now... now he takes it easy on you every fucking time and just gives you whatever he can because you're his little whore! Well... well... that's gonna end, starting tomorrow!"

So frustrated that Luc won't let him leave to go and process things, Adam finally gets angry. He turns fast, shaking with fury, glaring furiously into Luc's eyes. "Coddled? Spoiled? I bled the same as you, Luc! I memorized those charts! I practice for hours everyday! When I fuck up, I get beat and yelled at just the same!"

"Sure, sure!" Luc laughs, "For a time... the time before you started fucking him, am I right?"

Adam looks down. He thinks about Luc's words. _He can't possibly be right..._

"Think about it Adam! You've gotten sloppy as fuck these past several months! You've been fucking up all kinds of cues and timings, however subtle... I hear it. And if I can hear it, Nigel most definitely fucking hears it, and yet, he does nothing. Just busts everyone else's balls before going back to make googly heart eyes at you when he thinks no one is looking! It's fucking disgusting!"

 _Shit...Luc's right. How could he have not seen it? Why didn't he notice?_ The realization overwhelms him and he is suddenly so afraid for what the future will hold, for Nigel and him both. He starts to run toward home, tears suddenly spilling from his eyes.

 ♪♬♭ 

SUMMER, 2021.

Looking in the mirror and tying his black bow tie into his shirt collar, Adam tries to shake the memory of that terrible day in Central Park, when Luc had shook his world to its core and given him the ultimatum that would shape the next half decade of his and Nigel's life. He just wants to look forward to the future now, now that he's been gifted with another chance to be with the only person who has ever really mattered in his adult life, besides Harlan. Everything has to be perfect. He will prepare and lay himself bare for Nigel to see, tell him he never stopped loving him, and then all he can do is just hope that Nigel still feels the same, and will have him back. That is after all why he created this opportunity for them, isn't it?

Even though, at first, Adam had just taken his words at face value when he asked him to come drum for him, the more Adam thought about it, the more he was sure that Nigel had an ulterior motive. _'So maybe...maybe when you've finished school I could come see you again sometime to catch up? What do you say?'_ Adam never forgot those words that Nigel had said. He knew how real they were when he said them, and nothing could convince him otherwise.

Adam slips on his black jacket, slung over the back of a chair, next to the mirror. He sits down on his bed. He clips his nails, applies ointment to his hands, then wraps each finger in a Band-Aid. This is his pre-show routine. What he has come to develop over time with Julliard and then the Lincoln Center orchestra. This is just another gig. If he is nervous at all, it is not about his playing, but rather about what Nigel will say after the concert... The playing, it's no biggie. All jazz audiences are the same. His playing, it's good enough. He thinks little of how he will play. He thinks only of the translucent glass orb nestled in his palm and the gesture it will communicate once it is revealed. Adam smiles something wicked and pulls down his pants.

Several blocks away, Nigel is slipping into his own suit. He is elegant and fastidious, with his hair slicked back and his face freshly shaved. He looks like an old-school bandleader in his classic tux. But there’s something melancholy about the sight of him - going through his pre-concert rituals all alone in his empty apartment. An apartment he never wanted to be empty after he had met Adam. And somehow that didn't work out... He eyes the flask of bourbon on his dresser, goes to reach for it, but then he stops himself. _No, better to be clear for this...savor every moment, every expression on Adam's face, have to savor it._ He straightens his tie. De-lints the suit. He’s tidy, übercareful. He wants to be impeccable when it all goes down. On his way out, he passes by his piano, pauses to play a melody on the keys; then he grabs his music folder and heads to the door...

♪♬♭

Adam is backstage at Carnegie Hall, the venue for the JVC Fest this year. There is a rush of musicians, stage hands, and technicians backstage prepping for the show. Nothing new. He has seen this countless times at The Center. He tries to calm his mind, drown out the rabble, as he has learned to do. He closes his eyes and focuses on his goal for the evening, smiling. A swell of tuning washes over the scene as trumpeters, trombinists and saxophonists join in. Adam stands in the back. He opens his eyes and checks his phone. Seven twenty-eight. It’s almost time. He gazes around, looking for Nigel. And then, he appears from a side door.

Adam once more forgets to breathe. He's never seen Nigel so stunning. So regal. Warmth pools in his gut and he reflexively shifts his pelvis, which sends a white hot shock of pleasure up his spine and then he has to close his eyes again to keep his arousal at bay. So much stimulation is already going on with his body, too much more and he won't be able to play. He evens his breathing and looks at the floor as he listens to Nigel address the band.

"Alright, everybody, listen up! Fifteen seconds to get into places. For those of you who are new to this, it’s very simple: do well tonight, and the world will open up for you. The folks out there, they make a phone call and you’re a Lincoln Center core. Or a Blue Note signee. Or an EMC client. Drop the ball, and I’d suggest switching careers - because the other thing about those cats is they **never** forget." Nigel pauses, the silence filled with gravitas. "And for the majority of you guys who are already pros with good things going for you, that doesn't mean you grow complacent, either. Fuck up here, and you're done, no matter how well established you are now. No matter how hard you have worked. It will all be for naught if you embarrass yourself here." Nigel looks at Adam, but Adam's eyes are closed.

Then, a stage hand appears and whispers to Nigel. It's time.

All the players proceed to the stage, Adam at the tail end. The stage is decked in blue lights. The instruments gleam. Beyond it, a yawning expanse of black filled with the dark silhouettes of an audience. There is a hush, an undercurrent of murmurs and whispers gathering steam, as each player takes to the stage one by one to take post with their instruments in their respective sections. Adam revels in the sensation of sitting down in the drummer's throne and tries to contain his excitement. Then - applause. Twelve hundred people’s worth of applause. Nigel appears, taking his spot, smiling, at the mic. He waves. The applause swells up. And then - Nigel turns around to face Adam. He stares at him for what seems like a full minute. Then he comes up to him, the stage lights casting his shadow over Adam menacingly, and he is not smiling. Adam doesn't know what to think.

"I lied, Adam."

Adam's eyebrows curve with confusion. He forgets all about what his body had been going through until this moment. "What?"

"I don't forgive you, Adam." He watches Adam's eyes open so, so wide. And then he turns and goes back to the front of the stage, his mouth curled into a snarl.

 _What does this mean?_ A precipitous clenching rises in Adam's chest and he feels like suddenly there's not enough air in the room. He starts to sweat. _What does this mean?!_ His breathing increases rapidly, as his body tries to get more oxygen to his insides.

The lights shift. Blue to bright, harsh, near-blinding yellow. It’s showtime. Adam freezes.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We're very excited to be here, kicking off the JVC festival this year. I'm Nigel Cel Tradat, and these are some of the best musicians in New York, which means they're some of the best musicians in the world, and we’re gonna do some old standards for you. But first, we're gonna start out with a new tune by Tim Simonec, called 'Upswingin'."

 _WHAT?!_ Adam, his heart in his throat, looks at the top of his sheet music to see “Whiplash”. He tries to hold his sticks tight, but his hands are now slippery with sweat. He begins rubbing them on his slacks to dry them as he turns to his left and catches a glimpse of the saxophonists’ sheet music. Written on the top: “UPSWINGIN’”. He turns right, sees the bassist's music. Ditto. He looks ahead. And there’s Nigel - staring right back at him. And smiling.

Adam turns around. He has to stop this. Can’t ruin it for the other players - but Nigel has already raised his hand for the cue. Adam rises from his seat and the bassist glares at him - _What are you doing?_ And just then, within that same split-second, Nigel’s index finger bends down.

The cue.

The band explodes into 'Upswingin'! Horns blasting, saxes wailing! It is fast, furious; half-Latin and half-swing. Adam doesn’t even play at first, the instincts in him screaming not to destroy this. But glares quickly follow, and he has no choice...he plays. He trains his ears to try to stay on target, but the time signature is impossible to get a firm grip on. He misses a fill and then the time signature changes. He can’t keep up...the band gives way to rubato piano. He stops late. Then the band surges back in. He comes in late. He’s driving completely blind in this blizzard of sound.

The bassist next to him hisses through grit teeth, "What the **fuck** are you doin', man??!"

Adam, desperate, tries to fix things - but he can’t. He slides further and further behind, and the other players are eying him angrily in his peripheral. One could almost hear murmurs in the audience, rising in volume. And, through it all, Nigel seems serene. Seems satisfied with his spiteful deception. _And he is satisfied, right?_

Adam misses yet another break, and this one hits him truly like a knife. Tears well up in his eyes. This performance is already so far beyond saving. There is another missed hit. And another. More murmurs in the audience, louder and louder now, as the number veers, swerves, and sloppily staggers to its close. A swell of horns is followed by a misplaced crash of cymbals and what seems like a fermata. Adam stops just as the band resumes. And then just as Adam resumes the band stops. He is playing alone, but the chart is done.

Deafening silence.

No applause.

Just the sound softly rippling and settling from Adam’s last cymbal hit.

Adam sits at his set, in tears, nauseous, ready to vomit and fall over right then and there. Nigel stays still. Looks at Adam. On Nigel’s face is the look of a victor.

As he turns back to look at the audience we hear a smattering of polite, muted applause trickling throughout the theater. It is quiet, half-hearted, and pitiful. No one here has ever seen a disaster quite like that before.

Nigel sashays back to the drum set, over to Adam, with a grin splashed across his face. "I guess you don’t have it, after all."

Adam's heart skips a beat. His eyes are wide open in horror. He turns to look at the disappointed faces of the audience, and then back at Nigel's smug visage. _'How could he have done this to me? I...am...ruined...now... my reputation. My hard work...'_

Adam stands quickly and retreats to the side of the stage, where he quickly curls into a ball, his hands clasped at the sides of his head. He tries to even his breathing, keep from sobbing out loud. He is sweating profusely and rocking back and forth. It won't be long before he breaks down completely...

Abruptly, the side door swings open, and Darko, who was in the audience, comes through swiftly, but cautiously, to approach Adam. "Adam, Adam...are you okay?" It snaps Adam out of his downward spiral.

Adam looks up, his face sloppy with mucus and tears. He's trembling. "How...how could he do this to me, Darko?"

Darko leans down to rub at his shoulder, shaking his head and looking pitifully at Adam, "Oh draguta, _pretty one_ , you and I know what a big man-baby that fucking Nigel can be. Perhaps he did not know what to do with his broken heart...he let it succumb to petty revenge, instead." Darko lets out a deep sigh. He takes out a handkerchief and slowly cleans up Adam's face. "But this is indefensible." Darko puts his hand under one of Adam's arms to help him up. "Come on, let's get out of here. I can give you a ride home if you need it…"

Adam stands up, still shaky, and looks down at the dusty stage floorboards. _'I never wanted to break your heart, Nigel. You don't know what I was forced to do… for us both… but, I can't just let this sort of thing happen to me again. This time, I can do something about it… with just my own two fucking hands I can fix this! I am a goddamn good drummer, and I'm not going to let these people leave here tonight without knowing!'_

Adam then looks at Darko appreciatively and turns to march back on stage, leaving the stunned man behind, just in time to prevent Nigel from completely stopping the show as he stands at the mic, apologizing to the audience.


	18. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stunning conclusion!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please play the accompanying music exactly where it is in the youtube video embedded, as it is synced with the story. It will greatly enhance your experience of the following chapter.

 

_Coda: is a term used in music primarily to designate a passage that brings a piece (or a movement) to an end._

 

Adam enters the stage again, grabbing his sticks from where they were discarded on the floor. He throws his jacket down and folds his sleeves up to the elbows hastily. Everyone in the band, and then the audience in turn, gasps in surprise, which makes Nigel turn his head to look back from where he is standing at the mic. His victor's grin is quickly replaced with genuine bewilderment. It seems he had chosen too soon to celebrate. 

Nigel makes eye contact with Adam, who stares right the fuck back. Nigel notes that Adam's eyes have changed. He is no longer horrified and wounded. An angry flame burns brightly there; a passion ignited.

Nigel smiles. _This should be entertaining._

Nigel thinks then he will turn to cue the next piece after starting to introduce it to the crowd, but before he can even turn back around, let alone cue the band, Adam launches into the double-time Latin that is the intro to 'Caravan'.

 

 

He alone, his stick beating away at the ride cymbal, sets the tempo for the rest of them. He has started on his own, before any cue, beating the drums, as though vengefully.

Nigel glares at him. _Who the fuck do you think you are?_ He's never seen Adam this way, so aggressively inimical.

Adam keeps playing. He knows exactly what he’s doing and is not about to be stopped. Coiled rage builds in his eyes as he hisses at the bassist, "I'll cue you in!" And after smashing back and forth onto the front left tom and right ride, he does so, "...three, four!"

The bassist has no choice; he joins in right on cue. Now there is the bass and drums playing, laying out the beat. Adam looks back at Nigel, who has been watching him, mouth agape and undignified. Adam drills into him with his eyes. It's the kind of look Nigel had so often given him in the past, when they were still teacher and student. Then, subtly, so that only Nigel can see it, Adam mouths out two words:

"Fuck. You."

It hits Nigel, and he realizes he too has no choice. Nigel eyes the rest of the band and raises his hands, reassuming control, or trying to appear as though he has control, and cues them in. The band begins to play the opening patterns, the brass swelling in a frenzied groove. And Adam matches them beat for beat. 

Nigel then edges toward Adam. His back is turned to the audience, and only Adam can see his face, so he leans in and sneers, "Finally found the hard man within our self, haven't we?"

Adam promptly startles him with a crash cymbal hit, causing Nigel to jump back in meek reflex. It's another 'fuck you'. Nigel’s words only seem to strengthen him, as his playing becomes bolder. Crisper. His tempo more perfect.

The band itself roars into overdrive, the brass blasting away, and Adam is giving everything he has got, with laser sharp focus. Nigel steps backwards until he is at his conductor's stand again, without ever taking his eyes off of Adam. He is compelled to watch every strike and hit of wood on brass and skins. Every beat reverberating deep into his chest. And Adam just keeps looking straight ahead at him. _'Watch me! You watch me do this!'_ his body seems to command.

Unafraid now: He is a machine. He doesn't think -  he only does. And what he does is incredible. It's all from muscle memory. Not once does he glance at the sheet music on his stand. This music is in his bones. There could have been no better piece chosen to show the world what he's been made of all along.

Measure by measure, he continues to impress. Never has he played like this, and there in the drummer's throne, his body moves like an athlete's, finely tuned to perform the perfect execution of his sport. Sweat begins to drip from his efforts. It cascades down the curves of his face and shakes off like rain from the tips of his eyelashes, his nose and his earlobes, onto the kit. The veins in his hands and forearms bulge from the massive amount of blood being sent to them by his pounding heart, his vasculature now thoroughly doused with adrenaline and oxygen. He is a sight to behold, like a steaming racehorse running the track in the morning chill.

He is confident, in control, and so much more. It is almost laughable to think of how far he's come, from his early days at Shaffer, up to this very moment. No one would think now to compare him to the likes of Charlie Countryman or Luc or any other drummer he's been up against in the past. His skill and his drive have all peaked to finally allow him to transcend the walls of his complacency, catalyzed by Nigel's cruel and petty retribution just minutes before.

Bars and bars go by. Then, the brass solo in the tune begins. The lead trombonist stands up, sweaty, eyes closed in immersed playing. He is an excellent player – his embrochure buzzes away to beget the sickest notes. His hand moves the slide back and forth wildly as it gleams in the stage light. He wails away and all eyes move to him. But not Nigel's. He only has eyes for Adam. Even as his arms continue to conduct, he watches Adam's full throttle playing.

Now, Adam leaves Nigel's gaze to look at his right arm... It’s still going, and he himself seems surprised. He takes a ballsy chance, playing a tricky fill. He nails it. He goes again and adds an off-beat hi-hat accent that used to trip him up in his early days of Studio Band rehearsal. He fucking nails it.

The audience sits in stunned silence now. No murmurs this time.

Nigel is still glaring at Adam, but his face now says one thing and one thing only: This is playing he has never seen before. This is where he always hoped he would go, ever since he found him practicing in the Nassau Band room that fateful day they first met.

He turns an inch to glance at the audience and finds them absolutely transfixed.

He turns back, a real smile on his face.

Gone is the anger. The revenge. He begins bobbing his head to the rhythm, finally slipping into that once distant feeling of enjoying good old-fashioned well done music, devoid of ulterior motives and manipulations, and continues to conduct the band. It is almost as though this was his plan all along. Even if it wasn't – he couldn't have planned it any better than this.

Adam sees his expression. The enthusiastic movements of his hands and arms. He doesn't have time to glean out their meaning. He just feels. Feeds off the positive energy and it sharpens his playing even more than the fury that had spurred this whole thing on to begin with. He feels fucking amazing. Hearing the whole band blare along to his beat, the timing all being so perfect, everything is in sync and all is right in the universe. This is why music has always been so important to Adam! This is the place where he loves to exist, beyond pain and social awkwardness and loneliness and want. There is just the music and the emotional release it gives without any need for linguistic interpretation. It enters him and it just...is what it is!

Now, the brass starts giving way to drum breaks, and Adam makes of each break a stunner. His double-stroke rolls riproar across the toms, his feet and legs switch rhythms, meters, tempos, then careen back into place. All of his limbs are moving in a sustained frenzy, sweat splashing, mouth open, eyes blazing, and the whole set is vibrating, then shaking, and it looks like it’s about to explode.

Adam's right foot feathers the bass drum so fast that if anyone tried to look, all they would see is a blur. His left hand deftly delivers notes that pop out onto the snare and the toms. Both of his arms are battered and their muscles on fire but utterly determined, as though with minds of their own that are possessed with a keen sense of purpose – to play and play and play, the best they've ever played in their entire existence. He breathes and breathes, beating against his fears, his doubts...He’s in control and pouring himself into his drums - and it’s a sight to behold. Like a master dancer, movements so fast yet precise, brash yet elegant. It is violent, frenzied playing, but there’s something gorgeous about it.  
   
Soon, the number is at its peak and Nigel, like so many, is now just watching Adam. The band nears the coda. The melody, the rat-a-tat-tat patterns, the squealing horns and growling saxes. It's the drums that is pushing it all forward. Nigel's heart thumps forcefully in his chest.

Then, he moves his arms, conducting again, as the band reaches the final bar. Then it's the final note. He raises his hand. Sustains the note with a fluttering hand. It's all so perfect... He swings his arm down fast, cueing a blast of horns - and the band is finished! 

Except, that is, for the drums.

Adam is still playing, launching into an extended solo.

The house lights darken and then come on again, the light guy likely among the many surprised that the number is not yet over.

Nigel looks at him, confused now. He goes up to the drums, not hostile, but genuinely concerned, "Adam... Adam? What the hell are you doing?"

Over his playing, Adam speaks, "I’ll cue you!" There’s nothing more Nigel can do.

Nigel then steps back, nodding his head in sudden understanding. Adam's playing grows louder, more involved, all four limbs joining in, the sound growing bigger and bigger. He has effectively taken over the stage and all the other players can do is watch, their glinting instruments clutched tightly against their bodies in taut suspense. Adam is the bandleader now.

Adam looks ahead, past Nigel and into the darkness of the audience. He leans forward, closes his eyes, and dives in.

His sticks are whirling, as his arms and legs belt and hammer at the abused set. His head bobs up and down in sync as he arches his back to keep the movements fluid. His left hand continues the rudiments, as his right adds one ingredient, then another. A third. A fourth. He keeps adding and building and piling on, beyond anything he’s ever attempted before in his entire drumming career - going absolutely batshit-insane on the kit, sweat flying, hands blurring, drums trembling...

He starts finessing back and forth, alternately, between the crash and high hats, setting a steady rhythm, an occasional roll across the toms to keep it varied. Still going, going, going... this rhythm is good... it's a good little break... like rain drops falling lightly on a tin roof, before the downpour of a lifetime comes thundering down... The ringing of the cymbals echo into the next as he hits them. They are waves of sounds rippling again and again on the shore of everyone's ears.

The audience takes a collective inhale... _What's next? What is he gearing up for? When will this end?_ Everyone is on the edge of their seat waiting for this drummer who had once disappointed them so... they grip at the arm rests of their chairs. They grasp their event programmes tightly. Cover their mouths. Forget how to breath.

And Nigel is just as bad. Sweating, pulse racing, breathing shallow, Nigel clutches at the edges of his conductor's stand, unconsciously wrinkling the edges of his sheet music. He never imagined this day would come, when someone would finally enthrall him to the point of blissful concentration and suspense. Of course it had to be Adam...it always had to be Adam...

He goes back to banging on everything... faster... faster... Adam's playing continues at the height of intensity as he keeps his eyes closed. He is just feeling his way through this. Then, shooting back into the double-time, he attempts to go even faster than before... Not 330... Not even 400... He is trying, trying, trying... trying to reach that mythical place, the place where only the greats live... 410... 420... Even 430.

Nigel stands still, and his eyes widen. He’s no longer calculating or manipulating. He's not even thinking. He’s just awed.

Murmurs reverberate throughout the audience audibly, even over the roar of the drum set. They can’t believe it.

Adam opens his eyes... He’s in disbelief. The stage is his. He owns it. He breaks back into snare-based patterns, rolling around the toms, the cymbals...Adam clenches his jaw and closes his eyes again as he keeps playing, trying to ignore it. He plays harder and louder, and then even harder and even louder, pounding away at the drum set.

He's at 435 now... 440... 443...Which means those sticks are moving faster than a tennis ball shot across a court... Faster than Adam has ever moved before...the blisters on his hands have long split open and have been leaking blood down his fingers and sticks. Faster...faster...and, finally...450.

His kick drum starts to slide from the power of his playing. His sheet music falls off its stand. Finally, his crash cymbal almost falls over, but a hand reaches into his tunnel vision to steady it. He looks. And it’s Nigel. Nigel leaning over the drum set now and, for almost the first time on-stage, he is not cursing or snarling at Adam. He is smiling softly. Encouragingly. Nigel has an idea.

"Take it back to the snare." Nigel says.

Adam considers this. It’s good. He moves back to the snare.

Nigel gestures for Adam to bring the tempo down, his hand held out palm down in front of his chest, moving downward again and again. _Slow...slow...slow..._

Adam does as suggested.

"Single-stroke," Nigel says.

Adam nods as he slowly simmers the beat down, lets his hi-hat hang open for a moment. Everything goes quiet for a second, and a strong hush takes over the crowd. There is an anticipation, an indescribable electricity in the air.

Nigel looks at Adam, looks at his sticks, his face brimming with hope now, and then Adam begins a series of slow, clean snare hits. Right stroke, left stroke, right, left...

Sensing that it is time now, Nigel then gestures for Adam to take the tempo up again, his hand held out palm up in front of his chest, moving upward again and again.

Adam nods in concurment. He ever so gradually builds up the pace... Right, left, right, left... He builds up the pace some more... Right, left, right, left... Keeps going... Speeds up more, a hair at a time... Right, left... Speeds up more.. Right, left... And Nigel stands there, nodding, focused, like a coach at the critical moment. He waves his hand, pushing Adam on... Adam builds the tempo more, right, left, right, left, the strokes blurring into each other, the whole thing sounding like the fire of a machine gun, like what he was doing in the beginning... Right-left-right-left-right-left... Soon, the individual strokes can no longer be made out. They’re so fast that all that can be heard is a single sound, sustained and growing in volume.

Nigel patters out, "Come on! Come on!"

And Adam, goaded on, builds the volume. His single-stroke roll swells and takes over the entire theater.

"Come on...!! Come on!!" Nigel seems to be speaking for the whole crowd now.

Adam builds it further, going beyond what even he’d planned for himself. His arms like machines, the singlestroke roll building steam and power and pinning the audience in their seats. Nigel raising his hands, beckoning Adam forward. Now it is he and Adam working together, drummer and conductor, competitor and coach.

Adam moves to the toms, then back to the snare, then back again. The bass drum and hi-hat next, every part of the set joining in, every limb, every component, everything building up, up, up... It’s unlike anything this audience has ever seen.

Adam is tearing a hole through the stage, his heartbeat racing, the sweat pouring from him like a waterfall, blood gushing from his hands and staining the cymbals and drum-heads more and more! Everything a blur! Almost as though he is shelling the entire room with the onslaught of his beats! Then he belts out a blast of separated snare hits - and then - Adam fucking chokes the crash cymbal, creating a second of pure silence.

Nigel looks at Adam. Adam looks at Nigel. Two humans could never comprehend each other more deeply than this!! And then - Nigel turns to the band, raises his hand...

...and cues the final note!!!

The whole band roars it out, horns hitting their highest C’s.

He is the next Buddy Rich, the next Charlie Parker - Nigel’s only Charlie Parker.

 

 

 

♪♬♭

 

"Darko! Darko! Have you seen Nigel go by here?" Adam, out of breath and sweat-soaked, asks as he grasps at Darko's shoulders.

Left to the stage and behind the curtains, Darko greets him with a wide grin, too caught up in the energy of having watched Adam's insane performance. "Oh my God! Adam! That was fucking incredible!" He says, grasping back at the drummer.

"Yes. Thank you, Darko." Adam is flattered and feeling proud, but now all he can think about is finding Nigel. As soon as the band took a bow and the audience began its applause, Nigel had quickly taken off. Adam now takes the back of his hand and wipes at the sweat on his forehead. He looks straight into Darko's face. "Where. Is. Nigel?" Adam slowly enunciates the inquiry, making it clear to Darko the urgency of his need.

Darko smirks as one corner of his mouth raises exaggeratedly higher than the other. His eyebrows raise in faux disbelief. "You're still going to go to him? After what he did?"

Adam just smiles and blushes.

Darko then takes out a handkerchief from his inside coat pocket and proceeds to dab tenderly at Adam's damp brow, admiring his face. He leans down to whisper in his ear, teasingly, "I saw him duck back to where the dressing rooms are, lucru minunat, _lovely thing._ "

Adam doesn't understand the last thing that Darko said, but he doesn't care. He darts off.

Darko yells after him, still teasing, "He doesn't deserve you!"

 

♪♬♭

 

Adam runs to the back, and checks door after door down the long corridor, finding each room empty, until he comes upon the last, its door cracked open slightly. Warm light pours out invitingly. He pushes it open real slow, as though he knows he's approaching a room with a wounded but dangerous animal in it, causing the hinges to creak. "Nigel?"

Their eyes meet in the dressing room mirror bordered in bright white spheres of light. Nigel smiles small and turns around, from where he is standing at the vanity, to look at Adam for real. "Hello, gorgeous."

Adam walks in, closing the door behind him. Nearly expressionless as usual. He takes steady steps toward the older man, as Nigel babbles about apologies that need to be made, but Adam's not listening, he's walking... until he is right up next to him. He takes Nigel's tuxedo lapel into his left fist, violently pulling him down closer.

 _'Oh fuck, he's actually gonna hit me...'_ And then Nigel shuts an eye closed as his head moves back in a wince to brace for the strike, because if any cunt deserves to get hit in the goddamn face today it is most definitely him.

And when the hit comes, it is an impact of lips on lips, moving passionately, wet and hot and slippery and alive. Nigel reciprocates, although dumbstruck. And they kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, for what seems like hours, the two of them there, Adam leaning against Nigel, Nigel leaning against the vanity.

And it feels so good he could fucking die.

After all these years.

He is being kissed by and kissing back Adam Raki.

Nigel adds his hands to the sides of Adam's face, like if he doesn't hold onto this it'll slip away. The years of missing and loving Adam desperately crescendoes deep inside of him and he can barely take it. He starts to cry, the sentimental fuck.

Adam pulls away to look him in the eyes. "Why are you crying, Nigel?" He doesn't understand how such a happy reunion could inspire such a response.

Releasing the pretty drummer with a loud sniffle, Nigel just shakes his head and wipes at his nose and cheeks with the back of his coat sleeve, looking down at the floor as he tries to collect himself. He doesn't say it. Instead, he asks, "Why are you kissing me Adam, after what I did to you?"

Adam laughs. "I guess it is strange... Thank you for that, by the way."

Nigel looks at him now with a quizzical expression, "Thank you?"

"I've never played like that in my entire life. Thank you for providing the impetus to do so." And Adam means it. He thinks of the years of slowly slipping into the smug satisfaction of his abilities, never driving himself harder, never doing anything truly great. He is genuinely thankful for Nigel, and the realization he wrought.

A rollercoaster of emotions as always, Nigel is suddenly overcome with great joy, and raises him in the air by his waist, pulled in closely. He says, his voice low and full of appreciation, "The best motherfucking solo the world has ever heard."

Adam blushes a deep red all the way down into the neckline of his shirt and Nigel, now feeling Adam's arousal pressed hard against him, forgets anything he was even considering adding on, and instead lifts the smaller man by the back of his thighs, which he wraps around his own waist, as he turns the both of them so he can set Adam down and get at him from between his legs there. He starts kissing Adam again, but stops, when Adam's behind makes the distinct sound of something solid making contact with the wood as he sets him down roughly. Adam lets a little moan slip out.

Nigel asks, "Mr. Raki. Did your ass just...clack against the table?"

Adam's deep red blush seems to take over his whole body now. The arousal and pressure of the object on his prostate gland are not helping at all. Even though he had not been moving very gently as he was playing earlier, he was stuck in the trance of sick drum solos and did not pay it much mind. But now, he is all too aware of what is inside of him.

"What is it?" Nigel asks, trying to make eye contact with Adam, who is looking around the room and at anything else but the older man.

Finally, Adam looks at him and chuckles a bit as he says, "It's a...a buttplug."

"Adam." Nigel's face goes blank. "Adam. Why do you have a buttplug in your ass?"

Adam buries his face into the crook of Nigel's neck, and rubs his cheek nervously against the cowgirl pinup for comfort. "I had originally planned to seduce you after the show. I shaved and stretched there and I thought that if I just offered myself up to you like that, you would want to have intercourse. We never did have anal sex while we were dating... and I thought that after..." Adam lets out a big sigh, as though chastising himself for having been so naïve, "...after I thought we might have a talk about getting back together again." Then, he leans back as he dissolves into a huge fit of laughter that makes the muscles in his abdomen hurt and tears leak copiously from his eyes.

Nigel can't believe what he is seeing and hearing. "What's so funny?"

Adam tries to pause long enough to explain. "You don't think it's funny that before I came I was so oblivious I shaved my perineum and inserted an object into my rectum in order to stretch it for you, and all along you were just plotting my most brutal and humiliating revenge instead?"

Nigel doesn't find it funny one bit. He begins internally berating himself for being such an out of touch, heartless bastard. All that time he was thinking of how to hurt Adam and Adam was ready to give himself to him all over again. He aches with regret and with gratitude. How blessed he is to have ever met this sweaty beautiful thing now wrapped around him and laughing, when he should rather be beating him. "Do you still… do you still want to talk about getting back together, Adam?"

"Only if we promise not to hurt each other anymore, Nigel." Adam's face is dead serious.

"I promise, with all that is within me, never to intentionally hurt you again. And to always try to understand you if you do happen to hurt me once more. And myself, should I, as well." Nigel grasps Adam's battered hands in his.

"About that, Nigel, I never told you the real reason why I ended things so quickly, I…" Nigel shushes Adam with fingertips pressed to his lips.

"Adam, that is a very serious conversation that I most definitely want to have with you, but you deserve my full attention for such a dialogue, and to be absolutely honest, it's very difficult to keep all my mental faculties about me with the knowledge that you are currently plugged and smooth as a baby's bottom and all in my honor."

Adam's lids become heavy with arousal. "Nigel…please start calling me 'baby' again, like you used to..."

"Of fuck, baby, how I've fucking missed you!" And now Nigel wastes no time in relieving Adam of his sweat soaked clothes. He kisses at Adam's neck while his fingers undo and then slide off his black bow tie, which he tosses onto the table. He switches to the other side of Adam's neck, causing Adam's eyes to flutter shut and his exhalations to take on a breathy, dreamy quality, as he starts opening the buttons all the way down his white dress shirt.

Next, he takes the time to give small worship to each and every one of Adam's fingertips, down to his bloodied palms; he a pilgrim of love here to repent for his viciousness, as he goes to pull each arm out of its sleeve. How much blood, sweat, and tears have they given for each other? Adam more than he, certainly. Oh, how truly blessed he is.

Adam then slips his hands into Nigel's tuxedo jacket, as he slips his slick, pink tongue into his mouth. He doesn't stop licking into the space, as he removes Nigel's bow tie and unbuttons his shirt buttons, every lick a tiny forgiveness and an 'I missed you' all at once. He takes off Nigel's shirt and then clutches at his shoulders to bring their warm torsos close. Relishes the feel of their skin put together. They fit like pieces of a broken vase. The cracks meeting like prayers' hands in supplication. _'Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me,'_ their skin begs, as they share warmth.

They keep kissing as there is a mirroring of the unbuckling of belts and the unfastening of pants. Nigel steps back out of his slacks and then offers his hand for Adam to take as he steps down off the table where he then takes off his own slacks and boxer briefs simultaneously. Nigel drops his white boxers, too. He looks up to see the reflected image of light refracting through the flat base of the glass burrowed in Adam's private place, and he is immediately struck with overwhelming eros and thanks.

He turns Adam around quickly and wraps his arm around Adam's chest to embrace him from behind. He closes his eyes and moves his mouth close to Adam's ear, breathing heavily in and out. Adam closes his eyes, too.

"You gorgeous, kind, ethereal thing," Nigel whispers as his other hand reaches to grasp at the plug, "what did I ever do to deserve you?" Then he begins to roll the plug around inside of Adam, prying out little moans and gasps as it smoothly stimulates all the delicious bundles of nerves nestled inside the delicate flesh. "So, so, kind." And then he starts removing the object until about midway, at its widest diameter, creating the loveliest sensation of stretching that Adam's ever felt.

"Oh, Nigel. I missed you so much. You don't know how much I've missed you." Adam gasps out with his eyes closed.

Nigel then pushes the plug deep as he can go and twists it until he sees that he's hit that spot that makes Adam's eyes slit open and roll into the back of his skull with pleasure. He nibbles at Adam's ear. "So, so kind." He watches Adam's face more in the mirror, savoring every movement, as he continues to move the glass against Adam's g-spot. Then, he puts his big hand around Adam's neck, firm and possessive, but never violent, as his other hand quickly pulls out the plug with a pleasant _pop_. Adam shudders, feeling absolutely incredible.

Nigel sets the plug aside. "Please lay down, darling. I want to look into your face as we do this," Nigel instructs.

Adam complies, his face already looking quite warm and happy and satisfied, as he lays down with his back touching the soft, deep red of the dressing room carpet.

Nigel kneels down after him, between Adam's bent legs. He takes his hand and gently rubs at Adam's gaping hole. It is still quite wet from what Adam had applied to put the piece in, but Nigel doesn't want any part of this to be uncomfortable, even for a moment. "You wouldn't happen to have more lubricant on you, would you, dear Adam?"

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/rfaArmk.jpg)

Adam smiles and points to his slacks nearby on the floor. Nigel fishes a small tube out from one of the front pockets. "Always a boy scout," he muses.

"Boy scout?" Adam asks with a cocked eyebrow.

"It's just an expression, Adam. You're always prepared wherever you go."

"Ah."

Nigel applies a generous amount to himself and then lines up with Adam's entrance. He looks Adam deep in the eyes. "I never for one fucking second stopped loving you Adam." And then he plunges his entire length far into the seat of his beloved with a loud groan. And Adam swears to himself that if he could subsist on that sensation alone for the rest of his existence, he would. Nigel then lays down on top of Adam, hugging him tight around his shoulders, his head beside Adam's, and begins to move in and out. There are no words to describe just how good it feels, for them both.

"I love you, Nigel. I love you. I love you." Adam says into Nigel's ear. He is so ineffably happy that it all turned out well in the end, and that he and Nigel could finally resume the relationship they had always wanted.

Their breaths fill the room as they move as one, consummating their mutual forgiveness, after all this time.

Nigel feels Adam's pulse thrumming at his throat, and listens to the short pants that come out every time he settles deep inside. It's the most exquisite and perfect rhythm he could ever imagine being privy to. It's exactly his tempo. And he never wants to set the music of his life to anything else.

This love that he has again, paid for with blood, sweat, and tears, binding them

like the molecules of water,

like the harmony of two instruments,

like the cue of a hand and the first note played in a song.

 

 

 

[Harry James and Helen Forrest - You Made Me Love You](http://picosong.com/HDdr)

_You made me love you_  
_I didn't wanna do it_  
_I didn't wanna do it_  
_You made me want you_  
_And all the time you knew it_  
_I guess you always knew it_  
  
_You made me happy sometimes_  
_You made me glad_  
_But there were times_  
_You made me feel so bad_  
  
_You made me sigh for_  
_I didn't wanna tell you_  
_I didn't wanna tell you_  
_I want some love that's true_  
  
_Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie, gimmie what I cry for_  
_You know you've got the brand of kisses_  
_That I'd die for_  
_You know you made me love you_  
  


♪♬♭

 

LISTEN TO THE FULL SOUNDTRACK TO 'BLOW' HERE (and thank you for reading!):

[ ](http://8tracks.com/thymogenic/you-made-me-love-you)

 

[Click here to download.](https://www.mediafire.com/folder/b657tmixah1ax/Blow)


End file.
